


Engraved

by Arke



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff, Blow Jobs, Destroy Ending, Established Relationship, Frottage, Happy Ending, Love, M/M, Post-War, Priority: Earth, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-14 19:26:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7187009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arke/pseuds/Arke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every Alliance soldier is issued dog tags upon induction.  There's absolutely nothing extraordinary about the little pieces of metal – at least, there shouldn’t be.<br/>A story of two tags, the man who wears them at all times, and the man who loathes the sight of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cleanse

Shepard always showered with his dog tags on.

It was a practice that Kaidan first noticed while serving aboard the original _Normandy_ , when there were only communal showers that granted him the opportunity to sneak a glance or two.  Returning to the _Normandy_ under Shepard’s command three years later was everything he wanted, of course – resuming the fight, serving with the man who had saved his life and still called him a friend – but there was a tiny pang of loss in discovering that the captain’s quarters of the _SR-2_ had its own private washroom.

By that time, it made more sense why Shepard showered with his tags on.  He had never removed his tags since leaving Earth, when Anderson had tossed them across some impossible threshold, bridging the gap between the admiral’s decision to remain on Earth and Shepard’s decision to take to the stars against the Reaper threat that had finally begun its invasion.  In the palm of Shepard’s hand had rested his reinstatement, his mission, everything, all chancing glances back at him from the shaky light reflecting off the metal there.  He had gripped the tags in his hand as he watched Anderson turn away and head off into the fray.

From that point on, his tags always hung around his neck like so many other burdens and uncertainties.

At least Kaidan was there to relieve some of that pressure.  He became so much more than a friend to Shepard, his every word and action serving to keep the commander sound, and when he convinced Shepard to take a much-needed sanity check, those words and actions became his commitment.  Shepard opened his heart to Kaidan, and Kaidan guarded it with his life.

Unmitigated access to Shepard’s cabin was a nice perk, though.

Most days, Kaidan followed Shepard to the cabin, creating a routine designed to steal what time he could between missions.  He talked and listened.  He kissed and embraced.  He smiled and loved.  He did everything Shepard ever needed from him.  And Shepard always looked back at him with a subtle but appreciative smile that made every stolen moment worth so much.

The routine gave Kaidan the rare opportunity to observe how methodical the commander’s life truly was – or, rather, how methodical the aspects of his life that he could control truly were.  Shepard always showered off the dregs of the last mission as part of his everyday procedure, washing away the dirt and blood that inevitably clung to any skin exposed to air.  He had a habit of kicking off his boots so they rested in a jumbled pile in the corner near his desk, removing his padding and skivvy shirt to cast them over the back of the nearby chair, and then begin unfastening his trousers, only to disappear behind the doorway to the washroom. 

And Kaidan always waited outside, usually on the couch in the living area, getting a head start on his mission debriefs or, conversely, mentally rummaging for motivation to begin any other reports he had been ignoring for too long.  Odd, he thought, that he saw less of Shepard’s bare body while sharing his cabin as his lover than he ever did while serving as just another crewman needing to wash up in the communal showers.

One mission was particularly bloody, but not from the dismembered or decapitated bodies of Cerberus grunts or mercenaries.  Copious amounts of innocent blood splashed the ground and the walls and his armor, staining all of them with deep red splatters.  Upon returning to the _Normandy_ , Shepard took to the shower as usual, but he remained there for much longer than procedure, the audible spray from the showerhead wavering in the air overhead to the point where it became unnerving.  Kaidan could only imagine Shepard standing there, harshly scrubbing the blood off his face and neck and hoping that the redness left behind was all his own.

After that, Kaidan decided that the routine needed a change.

The next mission set the groundwork: a raid on a Cerberus outpost, relatively small and unknown, and no risk of civilian casualties.  There had been some close calls, as there always were, and Shepard had made a few risky moves, as he always did, but nothing which he would regret detailing in his report to the Alliance brass.  Kaidan called that success.  Shepard somehow seemed more himself when he knew the mission was accomplished without any such incidents, particularly when it was by the book and with few lasting consequences.  He had enough uncertainties to deal with already.

Shepard dressed down in the shuttle bay, leaving his armor in storage and throwing on his BDUs.  Kaidan followed him to his cabin, as did the distinct stench of blood and charred residue from discarded thermal clips, and he snatched the datapad that he had previously abandoned at the coffee table near the couch.  With a half-completed report open on screen, he waited for Shepard to settle into his own space.  Shepard would decide soon enough that he needed to cleanse himself of the remnants of the last mission.

Kaidan was a patient man – most of the time.  He stared at the datapad in his hand, hoping the report appeared complicated and taxing in case Shepard peered over his shoulder, and finally breathed a silent sigh of relief when he heard the familiar sound of clicking bootstraps and rustling fabric.  Shepard stripped to his trousers, disappeared behind the washroom door, and cast his pants aside into the open closet space at the other end of the room, as per usual.

Once Kaidan heard the initial gurgle of the showerhead that always preceded the steady stream, he set the datapad aside and rose to his feet, making his way up the stairs toward the washroom.  He followed Shepard’s lead, removing his boots and uniform with practiced motions, letting them fall in a puddle about his feet.  He hesitated, his fingers on the latch of his belt, and ultimately decided to remove the trousers and boxer-briefs now.  He could start taking on the routine with little rebellions.

Then his hand found the tags hanging about his neck, the only part remaining of his Alliance uniform.  He glanced up at the metal door before him, listening intently for the waver in the sounds filtering out from behind it – evidence of Shepard’s movement beneath the spray – and drew the chain over his head to set it aside on Shepard’s desk, placing the tags atop one inconspicuous stack of papers that had nothing to distinguish itself from any of the others.

Kaidan never wore his dog tags while showering.  Maybe he was the odd one out.

He approached the door, taking a sharp inhale as it slid open and holding his breath hostage at the sight of Shepard before him.  Facing the far wall, Shepard’s bare form, despite every scar, was a thing of beauty: the intricate lattice of strong muscles across his neck and shoulder blades; the steep angles of his back and waist as they narrowed to his firm glutes; the long legs that carried all that muscle with effortless grace on the battlefield.  And when Shepard glanced over his shoulder at the unexpected sound, his blue eyes widened upon catching Kaidan staring, but the subtle glint in them was all too alluring.

When Shepard turned halfway toward him, Kaidan released his breath.  The teasing jut of Shepard’s hips, the sensuous slant of his torso, chest and abs tilted towards him as an unspoken invitation – and the half-lidded eyes that stared back from beneath rivulets of warm water.

“I had wondered why you never joined me,” he said.

Kaidan rubbed the back of his neck.  “You, uh… always seemed like you wanted to be alone.”

Shepard angled his head, his Adam’s apple pronounced on his craned neck.  “I think you’re an acceptable distraction.”

“That so?”

Kaidan’s gaze fell slightly.  The dog tags hung in the middle of the commander’s chest like a blight, scuffed metal interrupting that perfect expanse of skin, the heat and sleekness that was intrinsically human and yet uniquely Shepard.  They were an unacceptable distraction.

“Something bothering you?”

Kaidan’s eyes immediately snapped back to attention on Shepard’s puzzled expression.  “N-No,” he said, mentally kicking himself for stuttering.  As if the distraction was not embarrassing enough – as if he should have any reason not to be pressed against Shepard’s body at that moment.

Shepard angled his head the other way, brow relaxed, water coursing down his temples in thicker streams.

“In that case, get over here.”

Shepard pulled him by the forearms, grip firm despite the slickness of his fingers, and held Kaidan flush against him, shivering at the sudden contact of skin and muscle.  His hands traced gentle patterns across Kaidan’s shoulders as the shower spray began to soak his lover’s hair, flattening those thick curls into black clumps.  Shepard drew one hand up to sweep Kaidan’s hair back and away from his eyes, earning an appreciative smile for his consideration, but truthfully all Shepard wanted was to ensure that Kaidan could see nothing but him.

A hand fell to Kaidan’s chest, smoothing over slippery skin toward his nipple to stroke and tease it.  Another hand curled around his neck, thumb pressed to his temple and stroking the damp hair of his sideburns.  The steam wafting about the air between them only served to warm his skin more than it already was, and yet Kaidan shivered, his senses entirely overwhelmed by Shepard’s skilled hands.

Kaidan tilted his head back with a groan, warm water caressing his face and sluicing down the edges of his neck, baring the heated skin as an invitation, and Shepard seized it, drawing forward to trail his tongue up one side of Kaidan’s neck to his jawline, brushing away the damp hair at Kaidan’s temple and nipping at the earlobe exposed there.

And Kaidan stood still, his hands clenched at his side, breathing in every clean scent, riding the momentary high of every stroke of his skin.  For all his determination to break the routine, he had failed anticipate being so pliant under Shepard’s touch, so utterly sensitized and deeply aroused at the faintest brush of Shepard’s stubble against his cheek or the firmest trail of Shepard’s deft fingers against his chest. 

This was something new to him – exhilarating, but daunting.

And temporary.  Reality would eventually knock on the door.  Whether Shepard embraced it, whether he repressed it, or whether he did not care remained a difficult question without an answer.  But knowing how long Shepard’s shower had been after that grim mission a couple of days ago, Kaidan had a sneaking suspicion.

He reached for Shepard, one hand enclosing over the commander’s still working his nipple and the other hand splaying out over his chest, sliding effortlessly up and down the slick skin toward his sternum.  He turned his head marginally further toward Shepard’s, his cheek brushing against damp buzzed hair as Shepard continued to mouth at his neck, tongue gliding over hot skin and stubble brushing backward against a collarbone.

Kaidan’s wandering hands suddenly shuddered at the touch of warmed metal.  Eyes flicking down to the tags resting against Shepard’s chest, Kaidan swallowed hard and retreated slightly, and there was a tinge of disappointment on Shepard’s face when he took notice of even the tiniest space between them.

Those tags were the weight of Shepard’s responsibility, silently strangling him with expectation, the hope of an entire galaxy.  Kaidan was gawking at them when he should have been gazing into the eyes of the man he loved.  So he bridged the gap, hooking his index finger around the chain and tugging it up toward him until Shepard was pulled into a heated kiss, teeth nipping and tongues caressing and lips stroking in perfect sync, willing Shepard to forget everything outside this shared moment in time.

His hand slid over Shepard’s waist to the small of his back, and he pushed forward, reveling in the sensation of trembling flesh against his own when Shepard’s back was pressed against the metal wall.  He kissed Shepard with the same fervency, tilting his head to one side and closing his eyes, giving a final tug on the chain about Shepard’s neck before releasing it to again collapse against the commander’s chest with an audible wet sound.  He then trailed his fingers, agonizingly slow and firm, down Shepard’s pecs and abs, deviating to one side to sink his index finger into the slope of his hip.

Shepard released a soft moan into his mouth, and Kaidan smirked through their kiss, his lips continuing their fierce movements against Shepard’s, contradicting the slowly winding coil in his gut.  Deliberately ignoring the heated erection lightly touching his waist, his fingers spread at the juncture of Shepard’s hip and thigh, now feathering light caresses up and down and side to side, achingly delicate against the hard muscles there.

“Shit, Kaidan…!”  Shepard took a sharp inhale, turning his head just enough to break the kiss, and began panting against Kaidan’s ear, frustration and need burning together in the pit of his stomach, closing his eyes to the water that streamed between them both and pooled in the places where their chests were pressed so closely together.  “Kaidan, I need—”

“I know.”  A low growl, mischievous and just as needy, breathed against the shell of Shepard’s ear.

The hand at the small of Shepard’s back descended, squeezing a fistful of firm flesh as it drew forward, pulling Shepard’s hips fully flush against Kaidan’s, wet arousals caught between them in the swath of heated skin and tense muscles.  They were both so hard, so hot, so eager and full of desire, and Shepard’s head tipped back against the wall, releasing the moan that had been trapped in his throat, his hands splaying out across Kaidan’s back with unyielding need.  But when Kaidan took both of their erections in his hand, Shepard’s head dropped forward, shuddering against the touch, the water trapped between them cascading through Kaidan’s fingers and trailing in hot streams across already-hot flesh.  

Shepard’s hands fell and groped for purchase at Kaidan’s waist, using the leverage for short, experimental thrusts against it, and Kaidan held tighter and ran his lips across Shepard’s unshaven jaw until they burned with the same heat.

His motions were unsteady at first, his fingers gripping too stiffly to slide easily against the soaked skin, and Shepard quivered under the rough strokes and drew in a gasp through clenched teeth.  A few tentative strokes and trial twists of the wrist found a strength and tightness that worked well enough – Shepard groaning in his ear, eliciting a twitch from his length so tightly held against his lover’s – and he quickened his pace, fingertips skimming along the side of one and palm gliding across the other.

“Oh, fuck…” Shepard cursed against Kaidan’s cheek, a single cry of pleasure melding with a hoarse moan, and Kaidan tested new angles, flicking his wrist over the heads, drawing his thumb slantwise across both slits in nonconsecutive strokes – new friction that was impossible to predict and that sent jolts of desire up Shepard’s spine.

This was what Kaidan wanted: Shepard writhing against him, an overstimulated, panting mess confined to the intensity of this moment, all senses hyperaware and all thoughts directed only at him.  His hand raked against Shepard’s side, fingernails carving light patterns into slick skin, and his teeth caught on the juncture between Shepard’s neck and shoulder, nipping a mosaic of shades of red into the curvature of the muscle, sweltering flesh overly responsive to even the faintest touches.  He wanted to engrave a piece of himself into Shepard’s body, to defy time and reality and everything else that waited just outside the door.

But the hands at his waist suddenly pushed him sideways, switching their positions until Kaidan’s back was pressed against the wall.  Shepard seized the initial moment of surprise to stare at the man so wantonly displayed before him: stray wet locks now sloping against his forehead, half-lidded eyes gazing back through a sheen of desire, lips parted and puffing short breaths against his neck.  Kaidan recovered quickly, his eyes flickering and one corner of his mouth darting upward in amusement, and he tightened his grip on their lengths in time with a firm upward stroke, the pull of hard, smooth flesh now a tacit contest of resolve.

Shepard braced himself against the wall, forearms pressed into the metal on either side of Kaidan’s shoulders, fingers fruitlessly curling inward toward each palm as he thrust his hips into Kaidan’s grasp, the combination of friction and angle like its own liquid streaming about their union from head to toe and sending every nerve firing with pleasure.  He struggled to hold his eyes open while his mouth parted into a gape, emitting short breaths and grunts that could hardly be called rational thoughts; he was lost in the sensation, fully submerged in the sensuality and heat and satisfaction – in Kaidan’s heart and eyes and touch.  And again Kaidan tugged on the chain hanging about Shepard’s neck with his free hand, drawing him forward into a desperate kiss, tongue and lips synchronizing in fervent strokes of their own, wet and heated and messy.

Shepard moaned into an open-mouthed kiss as he came, splattering Kaidan’s hand and stomach with viscous ropes of hot fluid that were quickly washed away.  The trembling skin against his own, the lasting shudders of Shepard’s thighs as he rode that orgasmic high, and the steamy kiss pressed to his lips were more than enough, and Kaidan soon followed, spilling thick cum onto his own abs with the same force.  The evidence washed down the drain within the short time they stood there, breathing heavily against one another’s shoulders, muscles twitching off the remaining tension, wrapping themselves tight in each other’s embrace.

When Shepard lifted his head from Kaidan’s shoulder, reached for the shower toggle, and turned the water off, Kaidan looked up, the last of the water streaming from his hair and down his temples.  Shepard turned his head toward him with a grin and swept the damp black locks back, slicking them over Kaidan’s scalp to admire the expression on his lover’s face: satiated, content, and perhaps somewhat tired.  He raised both hands to Kaidan’s jaw, thumbs wiping away the residual drops of water that clung to the warm skin there.

And Kaidan swallowed hard at the end of his final cathartic exhale, erratic breathing slowing as the steam began to dissipate and the warmth of the water disappeared along haphazard trails down his waist and legs.  When Shepard’s hands fell to his waist, Kaidan embraced him, sharing what wetness remained between them, and closed his eyes as he whispered, “I love you, Shepard.”

He could feel the edge of Shepard’s grin against the nape of his neck.

“I love you, too.  You know that.”

Kaidan parted from him, a new sheepish grin plastered upon his face, and his arms fell to his sides, seemingly at a loss as to what he should do now.  His eyes again fell to the chain about Shepard’s neck, but he quickly shook his head and leveled his gaze at Shepard’s brilliant blue eyes – at everything he wanted to see and know.  Shepard returned the awkward smile as he fiddled with the tags resting against his sternum, uncertain why Kaidan had taken such interest in them recently, but too satisfied with this moment to bother himself too much.

Kaidan’s smile faded to the point where it was hardly distinguishable.  The high could only last for so long, and rather than allow himself to think about returning to work or the battlefield or whatever else lay outside this perfect moment, he opened his mouth instead.

“Think we used up the hot water ration?” he asked, turning his head slightly to complement the amused lilt in his voice.

“Yeah, I don’t know,” Shepard said.  He took a single step back and folded his arms.  “My ship, though… I can use however much I want.”

“Okay, but I don’t want to hear it when Vega complains about the cold shower.”

“Hey, maybe it’ll do him some good.  Supposed to stimulate the immune system or some shit.”

“Yeah?  What about a hot shower?”

“I think you know.”

Kaidan chuckled.  “Yeah, I know.”


	2. Known

One week and three days ago, they changed the routine.

One week and two days ago, the routine was obliterated altogether.  A war against the Reapers was painfully adept at destroying even the best laid plans.

Shepard was constantly occupied, too engaged in field battles and strenuously hypocritical diplomacy to commit to any routine at all, always running from one mission to the next without stopping to catch his breath, leaving Kaidan to watch futilely from the sidelines as he wore himself down.  The missions were impossible to predict as the players of the galaxy-wide war spiraled out of control.  The ridiculous political games were trying on even the most resilient of nerves.  Still, he powered through them all, heroic image unscathed, but exhaustion disclosed by the deep lines permanently etched at the corners of his eyes.

They quickly learned to appreciate what borrowed time they could manage.  Shepard selected Kaidan as part of the ground team for every mission, relying on his strength and ability and devotion for all that they could give.  The rest of Shepard's time was chaotic, pulled in every direction but forward.  And Kaidan had too much time to observe.

He observed that Shepard wore his dog tags at all times.  He wore them as he struggled to sleep.  He wore them as he stared for hours at datapads, writing reports and planning every move.  He wore them as he forewent yet another shower to head out on the next urgent mission or preside over an unproductive political meeting.  They hung around his neck like a noose waiting to be pulled tight around it, eroding him from within, his every word and action under the scrutiny of the entire galaxy, and yet he refused to surrender to his own exhaustion.

Kaidan was exhausted, as well, being at Shepard’s side for every possible moment he could wrench from the commander’s grasp.  Stealing time between missions had become an impossible luxury – a distant memory, despite the comparatively short time since their last seized opportunity.  This war shortened both time and life indiscriminately.

The _Normandy_ had been darting about the Attican Traverse for the past week, revisiting some systems and exploring new ones, every venture culminating in a battle of some design.  An odd period of a few quiet hours descended on the _Normandy_ as she traveled through Kepler Verge space en route to the Shadow Sea cluster.  Brief moments of respite became more valuable as the end drew nearer and nearer, and on that day, Kaidan was determined to give Shepard at least one more.

He arrived at the cabin to find Shepard propped against the headboard of the bed, legs loosely crossed over the sheets and datapad in hand, endlessly scrolling plans and figures and maps staring back at him, illuminating the deep lines of his face in the worst possible way.  Shepard was seated in his uniform, as had become the norm: he could not afford any time out of it.  Kaidan loitered at the top of the short staircase, dressing down to his standard-issue boxer-briefs and undershirt as if in defiance.  Little rebellions, he reminded himself.

He made his way down the stairs and stood at Shepard’s side of the bed.

Shepard glanced up from the screen only once.

“Hey,” he said, the trace of a smile disappearing from his lips as quickly as it had arrived.

“Busy?” Kaidan prompted.

“You have no idea.”

Kaidan scoffed at that.  “Actually, I think I do,” he said.  “Take a break, Shepard.”

“Sleep is for the weak, or so they say,” he replied, and Kaidan could not decide whether the tone of his voice was one of confidence or cynicism.

“Shepard.”  Kaidan immediately regretted how much his voice sounded like a mother’s nagging.

But Shepard did not move.  Kaidan took the datapad from his hand, ignoring the hint of frustration that then crossed Shepard’s features, and set it aside onto the end table.  He placed his hands gently on Shepard’s shoulders, easing him down fully onto his back, and whispered, “Relax.”  He could only bear to watch the unsettled flicker in Shepard’s eyes for a split-second, and then his fingers involuntarily gripped a little tighter. 

“Please, Shepard – just relax,” he said, a short, breathy chuckle catching at the end that reeked of desperation.

He turned away for a moment, contemplating the bottle of liquor that Shepard kept stashed away in one of his desk drawers, and turned back to find Shepard’s face so uncomfortable, so busy with thought and planning and decisions, so utterly defeated by the war that refused to let him come up for air.  Kaidan bit his lip at the sight, the twinge in the pit of his stomach threatening to become painful the longer he stared, and he moved on instinct and mounted the bed.

Kaidan straddled Shepard’s waist, his shins cratering the sheets on either side, his weight pressed against the firm abdominal muscles cloaked beneath all that material, and cupped Shepard’s jaw in his hands, gazing down into his eyes as he had always wanted.  Slowly his lips met Shepard’s, caressing them with soft, rhythmic strokes, pouring his heart into every small movement, and Shepard’s expression slowly unfurled from its stoic concentration, until he could kiss and love Kaidan like he should.  He drew his hands up Kaidan’s thighs to settle at his waist, where they spread out with small strokes, an appreciative gesture that said so much amidst the silence.

Shepard parted from him when Kaidan began gyrating his hips, small circles against his abs and groin, artfully slow and controlled, and he gasped when one of Kaidan’s hands fell to his chest, teasing at the fabric of his uniform at one side, tracing smaller circles over his clothed pectoral.  With one sweet smile, Kaidan had breached every remaining hesitation, and Shepard pushed himself up to kiss him again.

Stubble brushing against his chin and mouth, lips moving against his in steady rhythm, breathy hums of satisfaction wafting between them with perfect cadence – and the pressure of hardening flesh beneath him.  Kaidan grinned through the kiss, reveling in every sensation, rocking his hips with a slightly quicker pace, the fabric of his briefs eliciting incredible friction in his growing erection as it pushed and pulled against Shepard’s uniform.  Shepard’s fingers pressed into him, sensual tension spreading at the juncture of his hips and thighs, matched by a slow upward motion – short, precise rolls of the hips that closed all the space between them.

But Shepard gripped his forearms and pushed them to one side, rolling them over with such fluidity that Kaidan had to open his eyes in surprise when he felt his back suddenly pressed into the warm bed sheets.  Shepard sat still, drawn back on his haunches, as he watched Kaidan settle beneath him, kissing the palm of his lover’s hand and relaxing his hips into position against Kaidan’s.  Kaidan drew in a sharp breath, his eyes rolling back at the first teasing stroke of Shepard’s hips against his.

Shepard began to ease down to kiss Kaidan once more, but found himself stopped midway when his dog tags slipped from where they had been loosely tucked under the padding of his uniform and then collided with Kaidan’s cheek.  They hung in the air between them, filling empty space with the constant reminder of unrelenting duty that held hostage what little remained of their time together.  Kaidan stared at them as they wavered in the recycled air of the cabin, expression blank, eyes unmoving, lips unnervingly still, and Shepard drew back once more to slide the chain and tags under the collar of his undershirt so they lay tightly pressed against his chest – unmovable.

“Sorry,” he said, gaze drawn sheepishly to the side.

To his surprise, Kaidan only lightly shook his head and replied, “Don’t worry about it.” 

Not now, Kaidan thought – not in this rare moment.

He pulled Shepard by the shoulder, willing him forward until they were inches apart, until the only thing each of them could see was the other.

Shepard ground his hips against Kaidan’s, tortuously slow strokes in perfectly straight lines, and Kaidan grasped Shepard’s biceps to steady himself, lips parting and coming together in rhythm, alternating between short moans and hums of pleasure over and over again.  Shepard sealed those lips together permanently with a kiss, swallowing the frustrated murmur that Kaidan directed at the fabric between their bodies.

Skilled hands traversed Kaidan’s waist, teasing at the elastic band of his boxer-briefs, and finally pushed forward, catching on the hem of his shirt and hiking it upward to expose his abs, leaving the material bunched together in messy folds at his pecs.  One hand deviated to the side, trailing teasingly light touches along the muscled curvature of his abdomen, and the other closed its index finger and thumb around his nipple, rolling it into a hard, sensitive nub.  Kaidan’s jaw quivered as he kissed Shepard, so susceptible to every smooth caress and kneading stroke and feather-light touch.

Kaidan spread his legs further and lifted his hips, earning a long, gratifying stroke against his clothed length, friction and pull against his heated skin eliciting a stuttering cry from the pit of his stomach, and Shepard parted from his lips at the same time to release a moan of his own.

“Damn, Kaidan,” he said, shuddering forward in his momentary struggle to hold himself upright.  But then his mouth curled at one corner.  “Such a tease,” he murmured on a single breath, and he lowered his head to trace his tongue around Kaidan’s nipple, an action rewarded with a spread hand sent careening down his spine and another hand held tight against the back of his head, fingers twitching against the buzzed hair there.

Shepard caught the hem of Kaidan’s waistband, fingers smoothing over the top of the fabric to palm the hard outline of his lover’s erection, and Kaidan’s head lulled back, his back arching into every touch and his neck craning to expose itself, begging for Shepard’s response.  And when Shepard moved to draw his tongue up one side of his neck, Kaidan’s hand began scraping up the backside of Shepard’s uniform, tugging at any clasps it could reach.  Shepard began to stroke him through the material of his boxer-briefs, thumb pressed firmly against one side while fingers graced along the other with mischievously gentle movements.

“S-Shep—”  Kaidan choked on the name as Shepard kissed him again.

Kaidan began pushing himself against that pressure, short and shallow thrusts of the hips against Shepard’s hand, and Shepard spread his palm flat against it, covering every clothed surface of it, more friction and heat than Kaidan could handle.  A bead of pre-cum broke against the material, staining the front of his boxer-briefs with a dark-hued spot, and he shuddered under Shepard’s touch, ending the kiss to pull his torso further down, craving all the contact that Shepard could give.  But Shepard resisted once free of Kaidan’s fervent kiss, and he rose up, looking down at him with his heart in his eyes.  Kaidan’s hands fell to Shepard’s sides and opened over the dips of his waist.  An index finger teased its way to the elastic waistband of his underwear, and Kaidan held his breath.

“ _Shepard_.”

Every movement instantly halted.

It was easy to forget that the ship herself was everyone’s personal voyeur.  While a dozen curses rattled about in Kaidan’s brain, Shepard kept himself calm, poised and collected and utterly stoic.  He had become accustomed to that mask long ago – and he had mastered it.

“What is it, EDI?” he asked, never breaking eye contact, never moving an inch.

“ _Incoming transmission from Admiral Hackett, marked urgent.  He is waiting to speak with you in the comm room about the latest details of the Crucible.  Initial priority transmission code suggests that approximately ninety percent of known construction has been completed._ ”

“Thanks, EDI,” he replied.  “Inform Liara that I’ll be in the comm room in a few minutes.  Tell her to bring her last research brief for discussion.”  His words were mechanical, emotionless – Commander Shepard.  John Shepard had disappeared.

“ _Yes, Shepard,_ ” EDI concluded.

After a moment of silence, Shepard’s stoic expression finally cracked, and he ruefully gazed down at Kaidan, a pained tinge to the tone of his voice.

“Kaidan, I have to—”

“I understand.”

“I’ll be back.”

“I know.”

 _I know_ had become a mantra, a lie made true only through repetition.  He knew that Shepard loved him, and that he was indisputably in love with Shepard in return.  He knew everything expected of Shepard, and he wholeheartedly respected him for soldiering on through it all.  But he did not, or rather could not, know what to expect from the galaxy outside of Shepard and all of his efforts.  Only Shepard was constant – constantly fighting, constantly pushing himself – and waging a losing battle to maintain his honor in a galaxy that was falling apart.  Everything else was unknown.

Shepard retreated from him and proceeded up the stairs and through the doorway with an awkward gait, and Kaidan chuckled under his breath at the sight.  He also knew that Shepard missed their stolen time, too – Kaidan had quite clearly felt that craving pressed up against him.

Kaidan rolled to one side when the hydraulic hiss of the door faded into the background.  He pulled the hem of his shirt back into place and sighed, momentarily breaking the disconcerting silence that had overtaken the room, and he closed his eyes, imagining what sounds could have filled the air – Shepard’s ragged breathing as he stroked him, or perhaps his own voice reduced to desperate moans and winded cries.  He rolled to the other side, attempting to ignore the uncomfortable confines of his underwear, and finally came to rest on his back, opening his eyes to stare at the blueshift emissions visible from the overhead window, swirling blue lights outlining distant stars, and suddenly he was distinctly alone.

He had come to hate being alone.

He was alone after the destruction of the _Normandy SR-1_ , when Shepard faded into the darkness of space and ceased to be for two agonizingly hollow years.  He was alone after Horizon, when Shepard reappeared before him for a brief moment of frustration and again disappeared just as quickly.  He was alone after Mars, when Shepard could not be there to even greet him with a simple “hey” as he regained consciousness in Huerta Memorial Hospital.  Without Shepard, he was alone, and the galaxy was empty.

He knew that for certain.

Kaidan closed his eyes to the stars and waited.

He had no idea how much time had passed when he again heard the familiar hiss of the door.  It might have been five minutes.  It might have been five hours.  With the approaching footfalls faintly echoing off the walls, he lay there with his eyes shut, merely listening.

Shepard had taken but three steps past the door closing behind him when another familiar mechanical sound jarred him into stillness.

“ _Shepard.  Specialist Traynor is requesting your immediate attention._ ”

He looked up toward the ceiling, as though EDI should have been there – as though she was not everywhere.  “I’ll get her on the intercom,” he said.  “Thanks, EDI.”

He approached the console at his desk and tapped the intercom button.  “Traynor, what’s the situation?”

“Commander, we’ve received an emergency distress signal from a communications technician on Ontarom,” her voice filtered out through the speaker.  “Cerberus has just attacked the comm facility there.  Only portions of the message came through.” 

“What’ve you got?”

“It sounds as though Cerberus is looking to gain control of access points in the facility.”  Her voice began to waver the slightest bit, almost indistinguishably so – but not to a trained ear like Shepard’s.  “Some of the Alliance's most advanced communications relays are on Ontarom, Commander, so—”

“So we go now.”  It was the logical conclusion; the _Normandy_ was the only Alliance frigate in Kepler Verge space that could undergo the necessary stealth recon and response.  “I’ll have Joker set course for Ontarom.  Send word to Garrus to head for the shuttle bay for briefing.”

“Right away, Commander.”

Shepard released the button.  Fortunately, Hackett had contacted him prior to the attack on the Alliance communications facility.  Perhaps there was some small hope of serendipity left in this war, he thought.

He headed for the short staircase, watching every step.

“Kaidan, did you hear—”

He looked up to find Kaidan asleep on the bed, lying peacefully on his back, arms folded over the shirt bunched together at his midriff, head tilted the slightest bit to one side against the pillow.  Shepard had to smile.  He did not have the heart to wake him – they were both perpetually exhausted now – and so he left without another word.

Kaidan opened his eyes.  That plan had backfired spectacularly, and now he had too much time to lie awake – too much time to think.

Their shared moments were growing sparse.  This war was eradicating every remaining virtue in the galaxy, leaving only destruction in its wake: burning worlds, separated families, broken wills, lost time.  None of the small serendipities here and there could measure up against that raw power.

And Shepard was on the verge of collapsing.  The galaxy’s sole pillar of strength was cracking at the base.  Kaidan clenched his eyes shut, hoping for sleep, praying for a voice, wishing for a dozen different conflicting blessings, all while knowing for certain that the galaxy would honor none of them.

Time passed in silence, never giving any indication of its speed or direction.  Kaidan lay there for all that time, unmoving, until finally the familiar hydraulic hiss filtered into his ears, and then he lay there, unmoving, and listened.  He heard Shepard fall to the bed with a resounding grunt of exhaustion, the aroma of sweat and blood clinging to his skin, as it would for some time, Shepard having no inclination to shower so frequently these days.  He heard a beep and an audible click – the sounds of a datapad screen being activated – and finally moved.

Kaidan feigned waking up and immediately felt awful for doing so.

He watched Shepard, who sat in his uniform, back propped against the headboard, legs loosely crossed over one another atop the bed sheets, datapad in hand.  In some disturbing fashion, perhaps it had become routine, a constant and yet prone to disruption just the same as everything else.  And, as was routine, Shepard typed away at his report, all while struggling to keep his eyes open.

“Shepard,” Kaidan said, running a hand over his face to calm the last vestiges of his rooted worry.  “Try to get some sleep, will you?”

Shepard never looked up from the screen in front of him, typing a final sentence before moving the datapad to one hand and holding it at chest level, scrutinizing every detail.  “I can’t,” he answered, eyes fixed forward, “not yet.”

Kaidan sat up properly, resting his back against the headboard a couple feet away from Shepard, but kept his eyes on him the entire time.  “Shepard,” he repeated, to no avail.

Shepard’s eyes were scanning his own words on screen, scrolling over and over again – an endless cycle that was slowly grinding gears to the point of dangerous sparks.  Kaidan’s jaw gritted as he watched Shepard’s free hand fiddle with the tags that now hung outside his uniform, as though he needed affirmation that all he fought for was still there – as though it was still worth the tremendous effort.

He wanted to tear the chain from Shepard’s neck, to throw the tags away if only to regain even a few moments, fully cognizant of his own selfishness but unable to conjure up how the constant strain was in any way healthy or normal or justified.  Guarding Shepard’s heart was a difficult commitment when he refused to let himself breathe.  How could those scuffed metal tags – so ordinary by design – weigh so heavily on such a strong man?  Kaidan lowered his gaze, wondering if Shepard knew why his tags were so heavy.

They were weighed down by trillions of lives, but engraved only with the name of the one life tasked with saving them all.

“Shepard,” he tried once more.

“Yeah?”  Finally, a response.

“I—”

“Kaidan, I’m sorry.”

He hesitated.  “For what?”

Shepard’s gaze finally fell.  “For everything.”

Kaidan’s heart sank, feeling the unbearable weight finally sliding from Shepard’s shoulders in that admission.  He knew what Shepard meant.  He reached for Shepard’s free hand and forced a smile as he said, “I love you, Shepard.”

“I love you, too.”  A sideways glance and a grin.  “You know that, Kaidan.”

“Yeah... I know.”

Kaidan looked away, the remnants of his own smile oddly calming in their persistence, and his fingers curled tighter around Shepard’s.  If this – hands joined, bodies seated together in a comfortable silence, heartbeats pulsing in unison – was how they would spend their final moments, Kaidan would gratefully seize the time for what it was.


	3. Reach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’ve never picked the Renegade option(s) while talking to Kaidan on Earth, keep it that way. It’s bleak and depressing as hell.

Time had run out.  Living for one another on borrowed time had that inevitable drawback.

They had traversed the galaxy, engaging every enemy, fighting every battle, rallying every ally.  Cerberus’ base had been destroyed, leaving only the one powerful enemy Shepard had faced and fought constantly over the past three years.  And now they had reached Earth – the last stand, the point of no return.

Kaidan had always thought that if he were to go down, he would go down fighting.  It was every soldier’s shared sentiment, a maxim bred into him by a sense of duty, a call to honor, and a command to follow principle.  But seeing Earth again – cities ablaze and ruined, bodies littering the streets, civilization falling into a miserable state running over with death – sapped even the most stubborn man of his confidence.

He met up with a few of the students from Biotics Division that had managed to contact him prior to the _Normandy’s_ descent to Earth.  They joined the fight with such eagerness that Kaidan had to laugh at himself about it: he was such an old soldier, and they were such young people.

Young people in the prime of their lives, ready to face death without fear.  Young people more than ten years his junior, who might never experience real, true love.  In that sense, Kaidan was lucky: he had no fear of death, but he loathed the idea of dying without knowing whether Shepard was safe and alive.  His love for Shepard was purely right, and if he had nothing else in his life to be grateful for, he at least knew that he had found real, true love.

He loved Shepard too much to face him before their final mission with a fake smile and a simple goodbye.

By the time they reached the FOB, Shepard looked like hell, his greaves caked with patches of dirt, his chestplate and gauntlets stained with blood.  Kaidan did not want to know whose blood it was, and he was not entirely sure that Shepard knew, either.

Most noticeable of all, though, were his tired eyes.  Shepard was so incredibly tired.  Still, he stood tall amid the destruction all around him, rallying his colleagues as best he could, saying things that he would forever deny as being anything remotely like farewells.

Kaidan could see the faint glint of the metal chain about Shepard’s neck, peeking out from beneath the edges of his armor’s inner collar.  His tags were hidden under his armor, always pressed up against him, always adding weight to his shoulders and forcing the air from his lungs, but still he wore them with a sort of stubborn confidence that seemed so childish now.  Kaidan grimaced at the idea: Shepard was determined to the point of absurdity, as though he had come to believe his own heroic façade – as though he had not let Kaidan see every crack in its surface.

And when Shepard approached him, all he could manage was a feeble, “Hey.”

“Did you find your students?” Shepard asked.  Straight to business – perhaps in denial, Kaidan thought.

“Yeah,” he answered.  “Well, some of them.”

A crease formed between Shepard’s brows.  “Kaidan…”

“It’s okay,” he said.  “They’re eager, and ready to go when you are.  They’re all fighting out there… somewhere.”

Shepard’s expression relaxed the faintest amount, a weak upturn of the lips his only consolation as he asked, “And how are you doing?”

“As well as I can be, Shepard.”  It was a true statement, but it felt distinctly like a lie.

Shepard did not know what else to say, a fact made evident by the lines that crossed his brow and the corners of his eyes, and Kaidan gently took hold of his forearms, pulled him close, and met his lips with his own.  There was no need for words at this moment.

Kaidan kissed him with the softest strokes could manage, tender and light, and Shepard closed his eyes to the touch and responded in earnest, allowing Kaidan to tilt his head to the side, hold his armored body close, and feather gentle caresses against his lips.  He could nearly feel the catch in Kaidan’s throat, all the words restrained and confined to the pit of his stomach, denied exit in favor of keeping this single moment alive as long as possible.  And when Kaidan pressed slightly further, his lips moving with a tinge of desperation, Shepard almost wanted to back away and deny him the opportunity to think that these were their final moments, that this was the final time they could share this warmth.

A clank against his armor forced Shepard’s eyes open; Kaidan had accidentally bumped a gauntleted hand against his chestplate.  Shepard lowered his head the slightest bit, and Kaidan parted from him, the expression on his face one of the most distressed that Shepard had ever seen from him, and he could not help himself from wondering if Kaidan was wandering into those hopeless thoughts, the dark corners of his mind that stewed in their own uncertainty.

“Kaidan,” he said, lowering his head a little further, watching him from beneath the furrow of his brow.

Kaidan nodded, a single bob of the head that reeked of the uncertainty that Shepard feared.  But Kaidan swallowed the lump in his throat and whispered, “Come with me, Shepard.”

He led Shepard by the hand down a deserted alleyway, between two dilapidated buildings, though in the endless destruction all structures appeared the same – cracked walls, windows blown out, rebar poking through crumbled concrete.  Here, there was only rubble.  Kaidan stopped at the end of the alley, where the artificial light could not breach the shadows cast by the ruined buildings, and guided Shepard to stand against one wall, only to then kiss him with a new fervency.

Shepard grasped for purchase at Kaidan’s armor, the sleek surface granting him nothing, and he finally set his hands against the plates at Kaidan’s hips.  Every stroke against his lips was so passionate as to be obsessive, and he shuddered beneath his armor, hot skin against perpetually-cold undersuit and metal.  And when Kaidan’s hand clutched one of the fasteners at the strap holding his pelvic plate in place, Shepard jerked against it with a much harsher motion.

He attempted to turn his head away, but one of Kaidan’s hands caught his jaw, locking him in place as Kaidan’s tongue stroked against his lips, begging for entry.  Shepard pulled his head back, sliding uncomfortably against the ruined wall behind him, and choked out a confused, “What are you doing?”

Kaidan merely watched him for a few wordless seconds, his erratic breathing the only sound penetrating the silence that had fallen between them.  His hand fell from Shepard’s jaw to join the other still fumbling with the fastener at his hips, and Shepard shivered at the action.  Kaidan’s eyes were pleading with him, and his lip quivered with desperation.  Shepard could not stand the sight of it.

“Just— just let me,” Kaidan finally said.  “Please.”

But Shepard glanced away from him, looking toward the light at the other end of the abandoned alley.  “Kaidan,” he started, unsure at first, “I don’t—”

“Just let me do this,” Kaidan interrupted, and he finally unhooked the plate from its position, revealing the latticed undersuit beneath.

He palmed the material there, his armor colliding with Shepard’s on either side with an audible clank, and returned his other hand to Shepard’s jaw to draw him in for a kiss, heated and full of compassion.  The pressure against him, the fervent caresses of his lover’s lips, and the sheer warmth emanating from all the shared space between them sent Shepard’s heart reeling, a dozen different thoughts fading into the background of his singular desire for Kaidan’s touch and heart and love.

They stood there for several minutes, sharing kisses so deep and loving and warm, while Kaidan stroked against Shepard’s exposed undersuit, feeling even through his gloves the growing need between them.  One of Shepard’s hands fell to join Kaidan’s for a few steady strokes and then dipped into the overlap in the latticed material, taking his erection in hand in time with a long swipe of his tongue against Kaidan’s lips.

Kaidan grasped Shepard’s wrist and moved his hand aside, allowing it to collapse against the wall, and kissed him once or twice more before settling onto his knees, the sight of which caused Shepard to let out a short moan. 

Kaidan gripped the base in one hand, his other hand resting at the backside of one of Shepard’s greaves at his thigh, and moved forward, lips parting over the skin they encountered just enough to maintain a slick tightness that was agonizingly slow and enticingly hot.  He paused at the head, drawing his tongue to the dip on the underside, trailing along the tiny curves of taut skin, sending overactive nerves abuzz with pleasure, and Shepard settled back against the wall as much as he could, the thick armor plating preventing him from properly bracing himself.

He wanted to reach for Kaidan.  He wanted to run a hand through Kaidan’s hair or grip his shoulder or just do something – anything.  But he was too aware of himself, too heavy beneath his armor, too cognizant of the dark sky and the dusty ground and his own bloodied hands.

Shepard was constantly fighting.  His heart was constantly pounding against his chest, the adrenaline in his veins a lifeblood of its own.  Every landing at some battlefield was the stimulus for that heartbeat to begin driving his blood in erratic pulses, coating him from head to toe in the rush of the fight, never mind the consequences of that constant strain.  And now Kaidan wanted to make Shepard’s blood pump with a different kind of ferocity.

He pressed forward, flattening his tongue to slide along the underside of Shepard’s length, and again stopped halfway to twist his tongue back and forth, flicking it over the edges of the thick vein there, matching the fierce pulse as best he could.  Shepard clenched his eyes shut, dropped his head back to the wall, and moaned at the onslaught, all tongue and heat and something like longing.

“Shit…!”  A single curse, the only word Shepard could manage.  His hands splayed out against the wall, fingers curling inward into fists when Kaidan slid further until he had taken all Shepard had to give.

Kaidan gripped the base tighter as he pulled back, slow and hot and smooth.  The dirt and soot from his gauntleted hands could not be washed away.  But he persisted in it eagerly – feeling Shepard, and wanting with every fiber of his being that Shepard feel him, feel warm and loved and alive at least once more before his commission demanded that he return to face the unknown.  Kaidan could not predict how all of this would end, but he knew that his remaining time with Shepard was what mattered.

And he plunged forward with a renewed pace, long strokes of the tongue, lips drawn slick and smooth and tight over the hardened flesh, back and forth over and over again until Shepard was struggling to hold down the string of moans and curses that threatened escape all at once.  His tongue swirled over the tip on every backstroke and slid along the vein on every upstroke, rhythmic heat and light suction along the entire length, and soon Shepard was gently thrusting forward into it, lost in the throes of desire, eyelids heavy and heart thrumming in a rhythm all its own.

Kaidan nearly gagged as the head hit the back of his throat, but he took every stroke in willing stride, his lips coated with saliva, his tongue sliding with new motions, his teeth occasionally slipping from behind his pulled lip and creating odd friction at sporadic times.  And with every slickened inch, he swore he could feel the grit of Shepard’s jaw, the clench of his hands, the words stuck in his throat.  The feel of hot flesh along his palate, the smell of sweat and blood, a hint of the taste of pre-cum on his tongue, and Kaidan was matching Shepard’s hips thrust for thrust.

His eyebrows drew tighter together as he attempted to ignore the dull ache in the hinge of his jaw, steadily demanding attention as he moved, and Shepard started quivering against him, mouth open, hands fisted, eyes clenched shut as he drew near the edge.  He laved the head with his tongue, focusing on the bundle of nerves on the underside and with a few pointed dips upward toward the slit, moving the rough gauntlet of his hand over the first few inches, and moaned against it as Shepard came, spilling himself into Kaidan’s mouth with a fulfilled groan of his own. 

It was unpleasantly viscous and bitter on his tongue, but he swallowed it just the same, taking all that Shepard would surrender to him.  A few more strokes to wrench the last remaining drops from him, and Kaidan let Shepard’s length slide from his mouth, retreating back onto his haunches and wiping away the residual saliva with the back of his other hand.  He waited for Shepard’s breathing to normalize, gaze fixed somewhere between his face and the wall, and finally rose up to his feet when Shepard took himself in hand to tuck it away into the confines of his armor once more.

Shepard fastened the pelvic plate back into place, grabbed Kaidan by the forearm, and kissed him, his tongue darting in to taste his own essence on Kaidan’s.  Kaidan returned the favor, skilled tongue running along the roof of Shepard’s mouth and the inside of his cheeks and against his tongue – everywhere it could reach – but his soft moans were cracking, tainted by the ceaseless desperation that hung in the air about them.

When they finally parted, reality returned in full force.  Shepard had to tap a hand against the shoulder of Kaidan’s armor to get him to let go, to release him so they could both return to the mission.  Kaidan took a step back, his hands sliding away from Shepard much more slowly than his body did, lingering in the air between them, wanting to continue to reach for Shepard but knowing that the distance was inevitable.

They returned to the FOB in silence.

And now Kaidan was the one who could not think of what else he should say.  Despite his commitment to the commander, his enduring confidence was finally beginning to crack under pressure, and he had to shift his weight from one leg to the other and back, attempting to keep himself steady on the earth beneath his feet.  He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing coherent left it.

The agony caught in his throat despite all his attempts to subdue it.  He did well at first, all things considered, but the more he stumbled over his attempted words, the more the wavering tone of his voice revealed the illusion for what it was.  He finally looked away in a futile attempt to hide from the cracks in that artifice, fixing his gaze on the rubble piled high in the background of all he had ever truly wanted to see: the man for whom he would have surrendered everything if it meant he would have one more day with him.

He drew a hand to the exposed collar of his armor, fingers reaching for the chain there, and lifted his dog tags over his head.  He held them in his upturned palm, eyes finally descending to them after a long silence, and shook his head, emitting a short, breathy laugh that almost disguised his dismay.  Almost.

Every subtle flicker of light that fell from the temporary lighting fixtures overhead reflected off the tags in his hand, metal scratched and scuffed from years of wear, etched letters crusted with years’ worth of dirt and sweat.  Perhaps that was another reason why Shepard had always showered with his tags on.

“It’s funny,” he said finally, and he paused on those words for a long while, his gaze darting back and forth between the two tags.  “Little pieces of metal engraved with your entire life: name, rank, service number.  All your achievements, all your strides towards good—”

Another pitiful laugh, husky and suddenly so insecure.

“…Only to be used to identify your body if it falls, like all of it meant nothing at all.”

Shepard’s brow knitted.  “Kaidan—”

“Don’t get me wrong, Shepard,” he interjected, a new inflection in his voice that was impossible to decipher.  “I’m going to fight like hell.  But now I know why I can say that.”

Kaidan offered his hand to Shepard, grinning weakly amid the inelegance of the moment as the commander glanced down at it and then immediately picked his gaze back up, uncertain and apprehensive.  Kaidan grabbed Shepard’s hand and set it over his own, enclosing the metal between their gauntleted fingers until only the long chain slipped between them.  His fragile grin receded into a frown.

He stared into Shepard’s eyes as he said, “If this is all my life amounts to, at least I’ll die knowing where it belonged.”  And he waited for Shepard to take the tags before he again lowered his arm to his side.

“Kaidan,” Shepard said, voice stern, as though aggravated that he had to draw up Commander Shepard in the major’s presence when they should have been so far beyond that formality.  He held the tags in his hand at mid-chest level, his grip firm.  “I can’t take these.  Not when we’re both going to survive this fight.  Not when there’s a full life waiting for us.”

“I know,” Kaidan clarified, but the aggrieved expression plastered upon his face gave him away.  “I mean… I don’t know, not really.  I mean, we just can’t know how this will end, Shepard.  I believe that you can get us through this, I really do, but… I just— I wanted you to know.  I wanted you to have—”

“You _should_ know that I’m going to be waiting for you when this is all over,” Shepard interrupted with a glare in his eye.

“That doesn’t change anything, Shepard,” Kaidan replied, the faintest trace of a smile barely breaking the surface.  “Take them.  My life belongs to you.  Always has, always will.”

The prospect of death loomed over their heads in the sky overcast with dark clouds and in the flickering artificial light.  It was the worst possible time for reality to step in and reclaim the moment.  Shepard looked away from him, eyes downcast and shoulders slack beneath his armor, and he fisted the tags in his hand with a sort of vehement reluctance that etched new lines onto his face.

Kaidan watched him go.

Kaidan watched him make his final rousing speech.

Kaidan watched him sprint ahead of his squad toward the beam that loomed in the background of a city in ruins. 

But only when he lay propped up against an overturned Thanix cannon-mounted tank, lungs breathing raggedly and leg bleeding profusely and Shepard’s adamant demand for an evacuation ringing in his ear, did Kaidan finally see him.  Shepard was so close, clutching his arm as if there were no armor separating them from one another, shouting his order as if it were the final command he would ever make, stalling a fight fifty thousand years in the making to ensure that Kaidan survived it.

And when the _Normandy_ arrived, Shepard ushered him into the open hangar door of the shuttle bay, only releasing his hand when he could be certain that Garrus had the proper leverage and strength to hold him upright.  With one arm slung over Garrus’ shoulder, Kaidan reached for him and called his name in the most dejected tone Shepard had ever heard.

Despite every protest, every little rebellious argument, Shepard stood still, bearing Kaidan’s refusal to watch as he was left behind.  He made his way up the ramp of the hangar door toward Kaidan, placed a hand onto his bloodied cheek, and said his words softly, reassuring and cathartic and pure truth.

“No matter what happens, know that I love you… always.”

Shepard was fully aware that Kaidan knew it, but still Kaidan embraced his words in a vise grip, never to let them go again – it was a part of Shepard he would always have, a piece of his heart that he could always carry with him.  It affirmed everything all at once: what they fought for, what they lived for, and what they would die for.  If there was one thing in his life of which Kaidan was absolutely certain, it was that Shepard loved him.

He gripped Shepard’s hand in his own, tight and secure and final.

“I love you, too.”

And as Shepard’s hand slipped away and his body retreated, Kaidan again reached for him, unable to bridge the gap, unable to close the distance between them.  A single look back at the remaining Reaper threat, a hasty order to go without him, and then Shepard turned on his heel and ran, leaving Kaidan behind, shaky on his feet, held up only by Garrus’ grasp on his side and arm.  As the hangar door closed behind them and the _Normandy’s_ thrusters reengaged to lift off, Kaidan turned away only when Garrus dragged him.

“Come on,” Garrus said, his stark calmness an odd contrast to the sense of urgency that permeated the shuttle bay.  “Let’s get you to Chakwas.”

“Garrus, I can’t.”  Kaidan’s voice was barely there.  “I can’t just leave him, I can’t let him leave me—”

“We don’t have another option right now, Kaidan.”

Garrus led him to the med bay and helped him settle onto one of the beds.  Chakwas gave Kaidan a quick once-over and asked Garrus what had happened, to which the turian replied that they could delve into the details at some other time, when the _Normandy_ was no longer fleeing Earth space while Shepard remained, boots on the ground, fighting until his last breath like the old soldier he was.  Kaidan heard every word with surprising clarity, and he could not stand it: being confined to this room, unwillingly ignorant of the fight raging outside the door and of Shepard’s last stand.  The prospect of his own death did not frighten him, but imagining Shepard there, alone, bleeding – dying – made his stomach churn to the point of nausea.

He rolled to one side, doubling over as the adrenaline faded from his veins and pain began to course through them instead, and let Chakwas do her work.  In his mind he replayed Shepard’s last words over and over again, reveling in their sincerity, cherishing how they had been spoken as though they were brand new despite every trial and tribulation the two of them had overcome together over the past three years.  No matter how many times Shepard had told him so before, Kaidan held the words close to his heart, knowing with certainty that he would no longer be alone in an empty galaxy when Shepard’s voice was so clear to him – the only thing he could be certain of now.

Kaidan did not die that day, but in his exhaustion he slept in quiet stillness as though he had.


	4. Armor

Nine months after the end of the war against the Reapers, Kaidan was still watching from the _Normandy’s_ shuttle bay as London burned and Shepard sprinted towards the beam.  He replayed it again in the occasional nightmare, but mostly he relived it through Shepard, in the scars from so many surgeries, in the severe limp of his gait, in the blue eyes still so tired after all that time.  For all his efforts, Shepard had survived the impossible.

Kaidan heard about it secondhand after the _Normandy_ returned to Earth space.  One full day after all the attacks had ceased and all the Reapers had suddenly fallen, an Alliance search and rescue team found Shepard’s body in what remained of London.  His body was broken: shattered bones, bruised organs, gutted skin, deficient senses – but his heart beat in defiance of them all, and they took him to one of the few hospitals that still had power and some functioning equipment.

His armor was charred beyond recognition, bubbled at some places and torn apart completely at others, leaving only a ragged shell behind.  Hospital staff spent hours sawing it from his body, removing large chunks of it for access and peeling it from the places where it had melded to his skin.

They sawed through the chain about his neck, which had become misshapen from melting and then solidifying again in the cold London night, and cut loose the Alliance dog tags that had pursued him everywhere, but the tags did not fall from his neck.  They had melted onto the front of his chestplate into a shape that was amorphous at best.  Their inscriptions were barely there, only evidenced by a stray letter or two and the faint outlines of numbers.  One doctor noted that what remained of the chain was thicker than the standard that she had previously seen from Alliance soldiers and also observed that the spread of the tags’ outline was unusual.  But they carved the chestplate off just the same, one large piece that had served to guard his heart well enough.

The surgeons saved the largest intact parts of his armor in the same fashion that they worked to save his body: removing grafts that were beyond saving and salvaging what whole pieces they could.  The chestplate was the single largest piece, relatively intact despite all its ragged edges and its scorched surface, and they set it aside as a memento for the savior of the galaxy, should he choose to keep it.

Despite the interruptions in the chain of command and the spotty communications relays, each a lasting reminder of death wreathed upon the Alliance and Earth itself, Kaidan had little trouble determining what hospital Shepard had been taken to, and he set out immediately once the _Normandy_ found a suitable dock.  By the time he managed to reach the facility, Shepard was between surgeries, rendered immobile and silent by an induced pharmacological coma, limbs and torso bandaged and bloody, rare expanses of visible skin interrupted by tubes and stitches.  But the monitor at the other end of the room showed a slow, steady heart rate that told Kaidan everything with simple flashes and beeps.

At another corner of the room was Shepard’s chestplate, sealed in a clear container of some sort, a dull reminder of the hellfire Shepard had endured to save the galaxy.

But when Kaidan saw that piece of armor for the first time, his heart rushed up into his throat and stayed there.  It took him only a moment to realize what stared back at him from beyond the plastic casing.  Shepard had donned two sets of tags and worn them to whatever final stand he made against the Reapers, bearing both of them as a badge of courage on his armor as he strove forward to complete his mission, to save the galaxy, to save Kaidan.  They had melted into his chestplate as he had collapsed in fire, all four overlapping in places and edging against one another in others, names meshed together, lives blended into an asymmetrical mess, but they were there – and they were beautiful.

He could not possibly fathom what Shepard had faced in the final moments of the war, but he could imagine one scene quite clearly: Shepard standing tall, facing his enemy, gun drawn in one hand, and two sets of tags held tightly in the other hand, close to his heart.

Kaidan stayed at his side for all the time it took, holding his hand, easing him through the pain with gentle words and soft kisses, and loving him with every fiber of his being.  The first time Shepard regained consciousness in his hospital bed, Kaidan cried at the sight, his heart running over with happiness and his mind finally at ease.  Shepard’s first memory after waking from the nightmare of the Reaper war was Kaidan’s face contradicting itself with a steady flow of tears and the widest smile it could bear.  Since he could not manage to draw one of his own, Shepard hoped that his smile showed in his eyes instead.

Eight months after the end of the war, Shepard completed all the surgeries, all the rehabilitation, and all the therapy he ever would.  He was tired of the doctors’ questions and concerns and fussing, the machines’ noises incessantly ringing in his ears, and the journalists’ sensationalized broadcast of his progress to a world still in the midst of reconstruction.  They had all claimed it a miracle that he survived, but all he wanted was to start living in whatever capacity his beaten body could manage now.

Finally, nine months after the end of the war, the hospital staff released him into Kaidan’s care.

The Alliance had previously offered to honorably discharge both of them with full pay – which, Kaidan thought, was the absolute least they could offer Shepard, the man who had saved them all without the hesitation that would have plagued any other man in his position – but Kaidan had never decided either way, and he received a pension regardless.  Eventually, he determined that he could no longer be satisfied with merely taking what was handed to him, and he asked for a job in Vancouver.  What remained of the Alliance brass cobbled together some paperwork and then offered him an advisory position at a reconstructed facility in downtown Vancouver, one without an approved job title or sanctioned function, but one he accepted nonetheless.

Kaidan took Shepard to Vancouver as he had always wanted, taking up residence in his parents’ home on the shore of English Bay.  It required extensive renovations and repairs and care, but from the large balcony it had just the view of the bay that they both needed.  Fixing up the house was strenuous in itself, and initially it seemed so empty: his father had been declared missing and later confirmed killed in action; and he had lost contact with his mother during the course of the war and never heard from her again.  He never wanted to think about it.  But he moved in to keep all the memories alive within himself and to share them with Shepard – and to hopefully make more.

Much to Kaidan’s initial dismay, however, Shepard continued to refuse help.  He refused therapy – both physical and psychological – with the most adamancy.  In some strange fashion, he embraced the pain from London, from the Citadel, from everything: if it meant that the galaxy was rid of the Reapers and that Kaidan was safe, he gladly accepted it. 

But he also conceded to it.  It had never left him.  Kaidan knew that the war would always be a part of his life, evidenced by the little idiosyncrasies Shepard exhibited once he was supposedly free of those constraints.  He said that he kept the buzz cut because it was easy to maintain.  He said that he kept the bed sheets pulled tight enough to impress even the strictest drill instructor because he preferred neatness now that he had time to focus on details.  He said that he shaved more frequently because his mornings were no longer spent darting between tasks in perpetual haste, and yet, there were still week-long intervals during which his stubble grew to the scratchy length it had been throughout the war, a period during which the free time he had managed to scrounge up was better spent elsewhere.

And for all of Shepard’s desire to return to a methodical life of certainty and schedule, the Alliance refused to agree to his offer of returning to work.  The Alliance brass said that he had done enough – much more than enough.  In some secluded portion of his mind, he fully agreed with that sentiment, but he also wanted that manner of routine stability in every aspect of his life.

For now, Kaidan was the only constant – constantly working, constantly minding Shepard’s condition, constantly enduring stresses for his benefit.  It was an odd role reversal that left him feeling like he could do more.

So Shepard slept in most days, as though he needed to account for all his sleepless nights and to negate the nightmare-infested ones that had prevented him from actually resting during the war.  But he was active, as well, building up his body slowly after too many long months trapped under hospital supervision.  He defied the odds and regained much of his dexterity, a feat that all those doctors had said he would never again achieve.  Shepard always fought the constraints that other people placed upon him, the shackles about his wrists mere nuisances until he could break them with sheer will and fortitude.

But he hated the gazes people leveled at him: every man, woman, and child who eyed him as though they knew who he truly was – that peculiar sort of hero worship that dredged up the worst parts of the war.  They watched him limp through his recovery and still called it a miracle, but it kept him constantly fighting, never satisfied with himself under the world’s relentless scrutiny, even now.

The chestplate of his armor placed in the bedroom was under relentless scrutiny, as well.

Kaidan had been the one to decide that they should take the armor with them to Vancouver.  He did not so much put it on display in their bedroom as he did unpack it and merely neglect to find a proper place for it.  Shepard had a permanent scar on the nape of his neck, a long line with jagged edges, where the collar of his armor had held the molten chain of his dog tags against his skin; he had his own reminder of that armor.  And he would look at the charred, misshapen chestplate once in a while with a sideways glance that Kaidan could never decipher.

And, even nine months after the end of the war, Kaidan was still watching London burn, too.

It was a rough start to his day off, having woken to the unsteady thrum of his heart against his chest, only to slowly calm upon the realization that he was no longer standing there amid the flames and destruction, no longer watching Shepard leave him behind.  He rolled over to find Shepard awake, as had become his unfortunate habit: in Kaidan’s descent into nightmares of that day in London, however rare it was these days, he inevitably woke to find Shepard with his eyes open, a concerned glare keeping them alight despite their weariness.  And his heart unavoidably sank upon knowing that the nightmare persisted in the war’s lasting effects on Shepard.

Kaidan was never certain of what gave him away: perhaps he tossed and turned, or perhaps he muttered in his sleep – both scenarios in which he could not consciously keep the nightmare buried.

Shepard never discussed details, either.  Maybe he did not remember them, or maybe he merely did not want to remember them, but his silence was sufficient to keep them hidden.  He was alive – patchwork, now, but alive – and he saw no sense in dredging up the past and reopening the wounds that had finally formed distorted but harmless scars.

That morning, they kept their usual silence about it.

Kaidan rose from bed and maneuvered to stand at the other side, taking the empty glass Shepard had left on the nightstand the previous night.  “Want some water or something?” he asked.

“Coffee,” Shepard answered, propping himself up onto one elbow, wincing as he did so, “with whiskey.”

“No,” came Kaidan’s immediate response.

“I’m fine, Kaidan—”

“You’re not having alcohol while on all that medication.”

Shepard grimaced.  “Every morning you ask me what I want,” he said, “and every morning my answer is the same.”

“And every morning I refuse it,” Kaidan said with a weak smile.

“I guess I’ll just have to get it myself this morning.”

Shepard forced himself to sit up, and Kaidan instinctively reached forward to help, but the look in Shepard’s eyes, the ambitious and defiant and determined look upon his face, was an adamant protest.  Kaidan took a step back, gaze falling somewhere between the floor and the edge of the bed, and waited.  Shepard’s recovery had been remarkable, and Kaidan tried to let him gather as many pieces of a normal life that he could, but he could not help himself in every case; it was in Kaidan’s nature to care too much.

But when Shepard’s expression contorted with pain and his hand fell to his knee, Kaidan did reach for him, placing a hand on his shoulder and leveling his gaze at the offending joint.

“You okay?”  The question slipped out on reflex.

Shepard looked at him.  It felt like he had heard nothing else in the past nine months.

Kaidan removed his hand, his fingers clutching the material of his shirt at his midriff, glass held awkwardly aslant in his other hand.  “Sorry,” he said, to which Shepard merely shook his head and sighed in surrender.  It was a rough start to his day, as well – even when his every day was a day off.

Kaidan left the room and headed for the kitchen.  He left the empty glass in the sink and found a new mug in one of the cabinets, prepped the coffee grounds, and set the coffeemaker to brew.  When he reentered the bedroom, he found Shepard seated, propped up against the headboard, gaze fixed forward on the chestplate at the other end of the room.  Kaidan took a few hesitant steps forward, and stood in an unsettling silence, his words falling prey to his wish that Shepard be the first to speak for once.

And as he stood there and observed, he saw Shepard for who he was: resolute, confident, immovable.  Kaidan had fallen in love with their new life, despite every additional trial and tribulation it wreathed upon them, but he had one remaining frustration, the ultimate irony of all that Shepard had endured to make that new life possible: no one had ever even needed to read the name engraved into his dog tags to identify his fallen body, all it had accomplished and all that it stood for. It was famously symbolic in all the standard righteous reasons – hope, faith, courage.  But no one knew him as the man he was, not like Kaidan did.

When Shepard turned his eyes toward him as if on cue, Kaidan’s heart skipped a beat.  He approached Shepard’s side of the bed and sat on the edge with a smile plastered upon his face, and Shepard returned it, much weaker, but heartfelt just the same.

His words, however, caught Kaidan entirely off guard.

“You want to talk about what happened in London?”

Kaidan had not spoken of London in the past nine months.  He had never wanted to rummage up those painful memories; he had only ever wanted to be at Shepard’s side and help him recover.  He had never wanted to talk about how he had lost all his confidence, how he hated the idea of flying blind into an unknown outcome, how waiting in silence was the hardest part, how he knew for certain that they were both destined to die that day.

So Kaidan lowered his head, attempting to see anything but Shepard’s curious expression, but it persisted even when he closed his eyes.

“No,” he finally said.  “No, I really don’t.”

“Fair enough.”

Kaidan lifted his gaze to meet Shepard’s, and guilt welled in the pit of his stomach.  Shepard deserved better than that.

“I—” he started, but it devolved into a frustrated sigh shortly thereafter.  He gritted his jaw as the feared confession began bubbling up his throat, and finally he shut his eyes and said, “Shepard, I was so sure that we were going to… that we weren’t going to make it.”

Shepard’s brow furrowed, though Kaidan refused to open his eyes to witness the change on his face.  “You said you believed we would get through it.”

“What do you want me to say?  I lied.”  Kaidan finally opened his eyes, the unsettled feeling in his gut becoming a forceful churn upon seeing Shepard’s face pained in an entirely new way.  He folded his arms at his midriff, as though it might quell the agitation in his gut.  “It wasn’t exactly, uh, one of my proudest moments.”

Shepard released the breath he had not realized he was holding.  “I didn’t expect to survive, either, Kaidan,” he said, causing Kaidan to turn his head slightly in confusion.  “But I did what I had to – everything I could – because I made a promise to you.  I told you I’d be waiting for you.  And now I’m here.”  He gestured toward his bare chest, to his broken body that had endured the war on humanity and the fires of hell to recapture whatever life remained for them, together.  “I…” he began again, his brow sunken and his eyes still so tired, “I had to make sure that you knew I loved you.”

Kaidan did not even have to think of how to respond.  “Of course I knew that,” he said.  “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”

Some of the lines on Shepard’s faced eased, and Kaidan leaned forward to kiss him once, lightly, a simple brush of the lips that spoke volumes beyond what any reassuring statement or comforting gaze into the depths of his eyes could have done.  The distinct string of beeps that signaled the end of the coffeemaker’s brewing cycle called from the kitchen, and Kaidan ruefully retreated.

“Shit,” he muttered.  “One sec.”  And Shepard watched with a weak smile as he left.

He returned with the mug in hand, a plain, white porcelain cup with a few cracks in the sealant on the outer side of it, and offered it to Shepard, who took it by the handle, running his fingers along Kaidan’s as it was surrendered to him.  The steam wafted about the air between them, swirling patterns with no particular direction but hot and enticing nevertheless.  Kaidan again sat on the edge of the bed before Shepard, taking care to avoid his outstretched legs, but giving one shin an appreciative stroke as it moved slightly to free more space for him.

Shepard chanced a glance past Kaidan and grew a short smirk at the sight of the chestplate, still sitting there in its plastic casing and chancing glances back at him.  Kaidan cocked his head; it was a different expression than the unreadable one to which he had become accustomed.

“You know, Liara had a piece of my armor at her place on Illium,” Shepard said.

“Really?”  The word erupted from his throat in something threateningly close to a laugh.

“Yeah,” Shepard replied, a nostalgic sort of grin creeping across his lips.  “A chunk of my old Onyx armor… a piece Legion didn’t get to use, anyway.”  Shepard took a tentative sip of coffee before scowling down at it – still too hot.  “Was kinda’ surreal seeing it follow me around after, y’know… death.”

Kaidan’s eyebrows arched.  “Well, you intrigue a lot of people.”

“That include you, too?”

“You even have to ask?  I’m hurt.”  Kaidan took Shepard’s free hand in his own.  “Of course, Shepard.  But it’s so much more than that.  After all this time, you mean everything to me.  You always have.”

Shepard granted him an expressive smile, the sort that Kaidan had not seen from him since they had taken their first sanity check at that little café on the Citadel.

“Always, huh…”

“Yeah,” Kaidan replied.  Short, simple, sweet.  “Always.”

Kaidan settled back a little, his shoulders slouching as he did so, and released Shepard’s hand.  There were many parts of the war that Shepard continued to hold on to, whether he was conscious of their persistence or not.  But, at least, if Shepard had no real qualms about Liara keeping a piece of his armor or Legion reclaiming a chunk of it for its own design, then Kaidan saw no harm in preserving the latest dull reminder of the war.  This one was unique to them, and embedded with their lives in every sense.

Shepard risked a taste of the coffee one more time, found it mildly more tolerable, and downed nearly half the mug, the sight of which made Kaidan grin.

“Got plans for this morning?” he asked.

Shepard set the mug aside onto the end table and answered, “I thought I’d go for a run.”

Suddenly Kaidan’s expression faltered.  “Are you sure?”

“I’m fine.”

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it—”

“Yeah.”

Shepard had one idiosyncrasy that never made sense to Kaidan, though, even after the months of observing his revival, his reconstruction, and his recovery: in moments like this, he still reflexively reached for his dog tags.  As though they had always been there, like a phantom limb, the ghost of the responsibility that had finally dissipated only to leave his shoulders unencumbered to the point where the freedom was foreign.

So Kaidan took the hand that loitered at Shepard’s chest, placed another hand gently onto his shoulder, and kissed him, holding him not as the hero or the legend, but as the man he was.

There was no armor here, only two souls with nothing between them – unguarded and vulnerable, and finally allowed to simply exist, to thrive in one another’s company.  For a while, at least, they could just be, and live for each other like they always should have.

And now, they had so much time – together.


	5. Limit

There was something to be said about having a routine: it brought about a sense of permanence that was lacking in the areas of life that refused to be controlled as such.  It was Kaidan’s last day off for several weeks, and, though he appreciated and enjoyed his work, which itself had a sort of agreeable routine to it, there was something about the routine of lazy mornings on his days off that was comforting on so many levels.  These were the most cherished days now.

He woke to find Shepard on his back beside him – arm barely touching his, tank top stretched and bunched awkwardly at one side, one leg of his sweatpants rolled partway up his shin – but his eyes were closed, and Kaidan smiled and decided to let him sleep.  He headed for the kitchen and prepped coffee, as had become his morning ritual.

He returned to find Shepard absent from the bed, and he glanced around the room, brow furrowed at the break in the routine, but quickly noticed that the double doors to the balcony had been left open.

He found Shepard seated on the teak bench on the balcony.  The piece had been a relatively new purchase: the edge of the seat sloped down at a gentle angle that was accommodating to Shepard’s knees and lower back.  Kaidan offered the coffee mug and sat beside him once Shepard took it in hand.

“Aren’t you cold?” Kaidan asked.

“Not at all,” he replied.

The mornings were more bearable in these early summer months, some chillier than others, but this morning was one of the rare mild ones: a gentle breeze, the steady warmth of the sun, and a view of English Bay that calmed even the most unsettled nerves.  It truly was a beautiful view, as Kaidan had always claimed.  The vast bay below spanned across his entire field of vision, the horizon line green from the earth at the other side and the water shining with the waver of reflected morning sunlight.  And then Shepard heaved a sigh.  It was still hard to believe that only some months ago, the bay ran red with swirls of blood and reflections of the bright fires raging on its shores.

The war still raged on in nightmares and in the sore pull of scar tissue.  Kaidan had scars of his own, the newest of which was the large gash on his shin wreathed upon him while fighting in London, but it had healed well enough, leaving only a shallow, discolored dip of a line over the skin that had been gouged out by shrapnel from the exploding tank.  But Shepard had the most scars, and he always would.

They had fallen in love at the worst possible time, in the midst of a war, in endless death and callous uncertainty.  But they had grown to know each other so well: every idle thought, every nightmare, every scar, but also every gentle touch, every laugh, every story.  And now life was clear and known and the future glowed with promise – finally.

Kaidan sat there in silence.  Shepard was in the midst of one of the periods during which he neglected to shave, and his stubble had grown to a length that scratched skin when touched.  He was focused elsewhere, but in a manner that was finally good – he watched the reflections in the bay, the boats setting sail while the breeze blew in a favorable direction, the few stray clouds casting long, thin shadows over the water.  So Kaidan reached for his free hand and held it, fingers interlacing, warmth flowing between them to complement the breeze.  Everything was just like old times, routine in the best possible way, like nothing had ever changed – but everything had changed.

Shepard took an initial sip of coffee and then smiled at Kaidan, the small, appreciative smile that had always said so much.  His grip on Kaidan’s hand was weak, but the pulse was strong enough.  He finished his morning coffee in the amicable silence and carefully stood up, letting go of Kaidan’s hand only to then offer the mug back to him.

“I’m going to shower,” he said, waiting for Kaidan to fully grasp the mug before he began to walk.

Kaidan peered past him through the open double doors to find a cane abandoned against the wall near the doorframe.  It had been a relatively recent purchase, as well, but one that had long since been proven to be a waste, and Shepard limped as he made his way toward the washroom.

“Shepard, use your cane,” Kaidan called after him.

“Don’t need it,” Shepard called back, struggling to shrug off his top as he did so.

Kaidan huffed, “If I stamped a damn ‘N7’ logo onto it, would you use it then?”

“Hell no,” came Shepard’s immediate response.  “Then it’d be collector’s edition.  Gotta’ keep that kind of shit in mint condition.”

Kaidan smiled weakly as he watched Shepard disappear behind the closing washroom door.  Shepard had done well – he was stable on his feet and his wounds and stitches had all healed into scars – but he was still frustrated at his body’s limitations.  Despite his efforts, his muscle mass had not filled out to what it had previously been, and no matter how many times Kaidan had told him that it had only been a short time since his release from his bedridden prison sentence of a hospital room, he disliked the slender form that stared back at him from the other end of the mirror.  Still strong in its own way, but a shadow of its former self, his body was still the source of constant strain that it had always been.

Shepard never admitted he needed help, but he knew when to silently surrender to Kaidan’s assistance either way.  Kaidan was never sure if he accepted the help because he wanted to avoid arguments, because he was humiliated by his desire for any help he could get, or simply because it was easier to stay silent.  But Shepard had never been one for taking the easy route, so Kaidan figured it must have been one of the former two.

He rose to his feet, set the mug aside on one of the nightstands in the bedroom, and picked up the tank top that Shepard had let fall to the floor and brought it to the hamper.  Old habits never died – fitting, he thought, and headed for the washroom.

He stood at the door, listening for the waver in the sound of the spray.  He could not decide if he was worried – after all, he had no reason to be, knowing that Shepard usually managed to handle himself well enough in his absence – or if he was frustrated at the stubbornness Shepard displayed even now, even after every conversation they had already had about this precise matter.  But there was no need to justify it either way, and he opened the door with one smooth motion.

Shepard peered over his shoulder as best he could, a tinge of pain marring his face with the final stretch.  Kaidan had hoped for a flirtatious grin, but all he received was a defeated look, and he had a sneaking suspicion as to why.

It was not in Shepard’s nature to be self-conscious.  He was bold and obstinate in every sense, and somewhat difficult at times for it.  He valued the routine, the permanence and the stability, and he fought for it with everything he had, only to survive in a body that now continued to fight back every step of the way, alternating between tiny skirmishes and exhausting brawls, every step as unpredictable as the last.  Kaidan hesitated to call it shame, but neither could he scrounge up another definition for it, and he resigned himself to observation, intervening only when needed or when he could not bear the sight.

“Kaidan…” 

Shepard’s voice was barely strong enough to penetrate the sound of the shower spray.  For all the times that Kaidan had seen his bare form since those days aboard the original _Normandy_ , this was the first time that Shepard actually appeared ashamed – there was no other word for it.

Kaidan retrieved the sweatpants that Shepard had cast aside onto the floor, draped them over the edge of the sink, and headed for the shower, where he placed his hands on the glass door, open palms against the clear barrier as though restrained.  Shepard eyed him curiously, turning partway toward him in one awkward motion, and Kaidan smiled.

“You’re perfect,” he said.

Shepard nearly snorted in the unexpected laugh that followed.  “The fuck, Kaidan?” he muttered, but there was an amused lilt to his voice that made Kaidan’s heart skip a beat.

Kaidan’s smile grew wider, and one hand trailed down the shower door, tantalizingly slow, stopping only when parallel to Shepard’s hip on the other side.  “I mean it,” he said, words filtering in from above the glass panel.

Shepard attempted to shrug, but his shoulder stiffened and resisted until he relaxed it.  Kaidan removed his hands from the glass, and Shepard felt a tiny pang of loss at the withdrawal of that longing reach, until those hands instead moved to begin tugging Kaidan’s shirt up and over his head.  With the discarded boxer-briefs soon joining the shirt atop the sweatpants previously cast over the edge of the sink, Shepard’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to speak, only to immediately close it when Kaidan opened the door and stepped inside, a sudden rush of cooler air swirling about the confined space and sending rigid shivers up his spine.

Kaidan’s lips were on his in an instant, soft, smooth strokes that voiced pure love through their silence.  Those hands reached for him as the man he always had been, confident and driven and methodical in his approach to life – and under Kaidan’s touch, he was warm and loved and undeniably alive.  They dipped into the shape of his waist, over the small of his back, up the expanse of his shoulder blades, gently caressing every scar they encountered, until they held him close, bringing his warm, wet flesh against another’s, light touches of skin that revered all that he was.

Kaidan kissed him with tenderness that complemented his wandering hands as they slid along Shepard’s body.  The bulges of scar tissue, the dips of former deep gashes, the edges of skin grafts – all new angles for his hands to explore and toughened skin for his fingertips to feel pulsing against them.  Every mark engraved into Shepard’s body was a permanent reminder of the war, but also a permanent reminder of his continued life.

He raked one hand through his hair, slicking it back away from his eyes so he could see Shepard clearly, and smiled through his next kiss when Shepard brought a hand to his temple, thumb moving with tiny, controlled motions against it and fingers curling around the edge of his neck as best they could.  With Kaidan’s hands flat against his pecs, Shepard tipped his head back, finally smiling into the kiss along with him as the steady stream coursed down the angles of their faces, warming their skin and cleansing their scars.

But Shepard had to lean against the shower wall for support when one of Kaidan’s hands trailed down his stomach, skilled fingers running teasingly against his growing length.  He let out a gasp as Kaidan took it fully in hand, small strokes along the sensitive underside bringing him to full hardness quickly, while Kaidan’s mouth fell to his neck, tracing familiar patterns along wet skin.  His hand fisted at the base of Kaidan’s neck, only to come undone with the discomfort that the sudden action brought, and he swallowed hard, silently hoping that Kaidan had not noticed.

Kaidan kissed his lips again, hand quick and precise, chest heaving against Shepard’s with each sharp inhale, and Shepard shuddered under his touch, every stroke over the head of his erection sending the type of sparks from his tailbone to the pit of his stomach that he had not felt in so long, a distant memory again becoming reality in this moment, in this wet heat and meaningful caress.  He could feel the undeniable hardness of Kaidan’s own need against his thigh, but Kaidan seemed to be ignoring it, and Shepard kissed him harder and reached for it.

The hand formerly at his pec caught his wrist mid-descent, and the hand stroking him quickened its pace as if in retribution for the attempt.  Shepard pulled his head back, squinting through the water streaming over his brow as he gazed at Kaidan, eyes bright with an odd combination of desire and frustration.

“Fuck, Kaidan, I—”

“Yeah,” he interjected, lips lingering there, gracing Shepard’s with light touches as they moved on each syllable, “I know.”

He released Shepard’s wrist, turned the shower toggle off, and kissed him with the sort of compassion that made him shiver with its sincerity.  As their bodies dripped with the last tiny streams, the only sound between them became the dull echo of water swirling down the drain, replaced soon thereafter with a steady pattern of alternating breaths between them, Kaidan giving a few more gentle strokes before releasing Shepard and taking his hand.

He led Shepard by the hand, leaving a wet trail behind as he helped him out of the shower and through the washroom to their bedroom, where he finally stopped to kiss him again, hands suddenly at his waist and fingers lightly caressing the dips and crests of every scar they could reach.

“Wait just a second,” Kaidan said, and he took a few steps backward, relishing in the perplexed look on Shepard’s face, before turning on his heel.  He rummaged through one of the nightstand drawers and returned with a small bottle in hand, and a sharp twinge of realization shot up Shepard’s spine: Kaidan was entrusting him with it.  “Here,” he added simply, and he placed the bottle in one of Shepard’s hands and then took hold of his other hand, a firm grasp that affirmed everything all at once.

Kaidan had purchased the bottle of lube about one week ago.  He had taken the opportunity that weekend to go for a morning run with Shepard and witness firsthand the tremendous progress he had made.  Although Shepard favored one leg, rendering his pace less balanced than it should have been, the brace on his damaged knee and the titanium reinforcements in his bones themselves were clearly doing as designed, and he rarely had to stop during the route.  Only when they had returned to the house did Shepard show clear signs of soreness and perhaps regret, but that was to be expected; he was constantly fighting those constraints and, from what Kaidan could see, he was finally starting to win.

At the time, it seemed to be a fitting proposal: introduce the sort of intimacy into their shared new life that they had never attained in their hectic old lives.  But then Shepard collapsed a couple of days later when his knee gave out.  He had sworn up a storm and punched a wall in frustration, and Kaidan gawked at the evidence when he returned home from work that day.  For all his efforts in recovery, Shepard had certainly regained sufficient strength to put a dent in the wall, leaving the plaster cracked and the paint chipped and scattered about the floor in a small, dusty circle.  Shepard had to have had more metal than bone in him now, but he was still human – frustrated at his limitations and perpetually exhausted by his efforts to surpass them.

But with Kaidan’s hand holding his with such determination, Shepard’s frustrations faded.  Kaidan was his support structure, always there to help him up whenever he did fall, always there to hold him and love him whenever he did descend into thoughts of surrender, always making him feel like a man again at those dark times when he did think he was damaged goods not worth the effort of salvage.  They had both survived the impossible, and now Kaidan planned to ensure that they lived as they always should have.

He kissed Shepard once or twice more, willing him forward with subtle touches, and soon found a comfortable position upon his back on the bed.  Shepard took a few more precautions in mounting the bed and settling between his lover’s legs, ignoring the dull ache in his knee and the odd bend in the small of his back, and Kaidan lifted himself up on his elbows to kiss him, damp black hair sticking between their foreheads as they met over and over again.

A hand slid to the nape of his neck, gentle caresses of his scars that matched the perfect softness at his lips, and Shepard watched Kaidan lower himself to the bed sheet, coffee brown eyes newly alight with anticipation.

But Shepard was at a loss as to what he was supposed to do here.  He contemplated reading the instructions printed on the bottle, but that would have been distinctly unsexy, and his brow furrowed with a new sort of frustration.  Kaidan could read the embarrassment quite clearly on his face, and he lifted his torso to meet Shepard halfway, supporting himself with one forearm on the bed and taking hold of the bottle with the other hand.  He flicked open the cap, squeezed some of the gel onto Shepard’s palm, which had been left awkwardly open after having the bottle removed from it, and kissed him again, reassuring and trusting and full of love, as he guided Shepard’s hand to his own length.

With his hand around Shepard’s, Kaidan ensured that the lube spread evenly over the hard flesh, stroking with such slick movements that Shepard released a few soft moans into his mouth as they kissed.  Kaidan parted from him, meeting his gaze with a heartfelt smile, and let himself fall back to the sheet, already dampened with residual water from the shower.  Shepard took the bottle Kaidan had set aside and slathered two fingers with more gel, unsure of how much was necessary but reasoning that it was better to have too much rather than too little.

When a finger pressed into the tight ring of muscle between his legs, Kaidan gasped, a sharp inhale that sounded painful, but he gritted his teeth, swallowed the anxiety behind them, and willed himself to relax as best he could.  When a second finger slid in beside the first, he nearly jerked away from it, eyes screwing shut for a brief moment of pain and slowly opening again as it devolved into mere discomfort.  Another attempted swallow, and he met Shepard’s concerned gaze with a nod and a weakened smile.

Shepard removed his fingers, gave himself a few more slick strokes, and then aligned their bodies, hesitating with the head of his erection at Kaidan’s entrance, knowing that Kaidan wanted this just as much as he did, but still stumbling over uncertainty – for Kaidan’s comfort, and for the pain in his own joints.  He finally pushed forward on one long exhale, on a failed attempt to dispel those lingering doubts.

“Shit…!” Kaidan cried, his hands clenching the sheets in twitchingly tight fistfuls, and Shepard immediately stopped where he was.

“You okay?”

“No,” Kaidan confessed, “but it’s fine.”  A weak grin grew across his lips, itself a failed attempt at reassurance, and Shepard shook his head.

“Kaidan—”

“Shepard, I trust you.”

He knew that.

It took him a contemplative moment of silence, but eventually Shepard nodded, swallowed the lump in his throat, and pressed forward into the slickened ring of muscle.  The resistance had lessened only marginally by the time he was halfway in, and he stopped there and began to pull back with a grunt, slow and steady and careful, watching the lines on Kaidan’s face and the erratic heaving of his chest.  With only the head remaining inside, he gently pushed in, bracing one hand on Kaidan’s knee and the other on the sheet near Kaidan’s shoulder, and his gaze fell to the point of contact, the puckered hole that was barely beginning to accept him.

Kaidan appreciated the slow pace: it was what Shepard could manage relatively comfortably, and it gave him a chance to adjust to the friction and angle and size as Shepard moved in and out of him.  Most of all, though, he appreciated it for another reason – they had so much time now.

No desperation or haste, no time restriction, no looming threat of separation, no relentless duty lingering in the breaths wafting about the shared space between them – no names etched permanently into tags that followed them everywhere.  Finally, they were allowed to simply live for each other.

Kaidan spread his legs further as an invitation, smiling through the discomfort and gripping Shepard’s forearm with more force than he had intended.  The hand at his knee moved with the gesture, and the fingers there began to stroke his skin, softly, appreciatively.  Shepard chanced a longer thrust, still slow, but deeper, and Kaidan’s mouth opened, unable to restrain the low cry that slipped from between his clenched teeth.

And when he pressed forward until sheathed to the hilt, Kaidan shuddered beneath him, shifting against the mattress, hands falling to the sheet and groping for purchase at his sides, short gasps alternating with long exhales.  His eyes clenched shut, and his head tilted to one side, straining to keep his cries confined to his gut.  Shepard stopped there, and Kaidan finally opened his eyes to meet that rueful expression, one that was apologetic and yet pained in its own way.

But Kaidan shifted his hips, pressing back against him amidst the silence, and Shepard again began to move.

His motions were slightly less gentle, firmer, longer thrusts of the hips, pushing and pulling nearly the entire length in and out of his lover’s body, and Kaidan bit his lip, groaning behind it, focused on relaxing to the point where he could feel nothing else – only the heat, the slickness, the pull of slowly-acquiescing muscle.

The hand at Kaidan’s knee moved to the underside of his thigh once the wrist began to throb from the pressure; Shepard’s sore joints were always protesting such constant tension.  He lifted Kaidan’s thigh and shifted his hips slightly to the side, the new angle eliciting a moan from Kaidan, complemented by novel tightness around his length that caused him to tremble with the sensation.

“Damn,” he managed to say on a single breath, before he was lost in the feeling of Kaidan suddenly writhing beneath him, sinking himself onto Shepard’s hips to match his pace.  With a grunt he lifted Kaidan’s thigh further and fisted his other hand into the sheet for support, tilting Kaidan’s hips at the precise angle he needed.

“S-Shepard…” was all Kaidan could force from his throat before he was again panting for breath.

Shepard thrust into him with all he could manage, his labored breaths matching Kaidan’s, his body shivering under the evaporating sheen of sweat that had come to coat both of them in their efforts, and Kaidan arched into each thrust, moans erupting from his throat in rapid succession, the intense heat of it all becoming a welcome force into his body.  Shepard dropped his head forward, watching the subtle changes on Kaidan’s face as he cried out with every motion, the pleasured curve of his lips, the hot flush of his cheeks, and groaned when Kaidan lifted his other leg up on the heel of his foot, adding more depth to every thrust that was impossible to resist.  Shepard was lost in the throes of his desire for this – all of this.  But his muscles were sore, his arm struggling to hold him upright, his bones aching with the strain, his lungs hot with overexertion.

“Kaidan, I…”

His movements became erratic, sweat beading on his brow, muscles twitching in protest against the continued strain.  The dull ache in his knee had become a sharp pain that could no longer be ignored.

“K-Kaidan, I can’t—”

His arm gave way, and he nearly collapsed, only to find Kaidan’s firm grasp upon his shoulders bracing him upright.  A few timid glances back and forth between Kaidan’s eyes, and he slowly let himself sink into Kaidan’s embrace, warm, perspiring flesh against his, long exhales easing their chests against one another in even strokes.

“It’s okay,” Kaidan whispered between breaths, and he held on, feeling every sore muscle in his lover’s body and hearing every silent curse that lingered in his throat.  His hands smoothed over the expanse of Shepard’s back, fingertips trailing over every scar with delicately light touches, and finally came to rest at the long scar at the nape of his neck, the jagged reminder of the duty that had driven him to his limit.

“I love you, Shepard.”

Shepard embraced him, his eyes clenching shut, and Kaidan felt every throb of Shepard’s heart between their chests pressed so closely together.

“I love you, too—”

The words were hasty, and the catch at the end sounded utterly defeated, as though on the brink of a sob, but still they dripped with sincerity.  And Kaidan grew a smile, one that he feared made him look like he was thinking of something ridiculous, but he could not stop it from claiming the remainder of his face – in the creases at the corners of his eyes finally easing, in the warm flush on his cheeks reaching his ears.  He held Shepard tightly in the quiet stillness and let him rest as long as he needed.

“I’m sorry,” Shepard finally said.

Kaidan managed a single chuckle.  “Don’t be.”

His ankles hooked over the inside of Shepard’s calves, and in one abrupt motion, Kaidan rolled them over and switched their positions so his shins framed Shepard’s waist on either side, a rough tumble that made Shepard hiss with pain – but it was brief, as Kaidan again sank down on his hips, sheathing him to the hilt, taking all he could give and moaning with the slick fullness inside him, and Shepard let himself settle back into the sheet, craning his neck as his head sank into the pillow.

Kaidan moved with such fluid motions, rising up slowly and falling again with controlled quickness, and Shepard struggled to keep his eyes open to watch him, the steady motions of his hips, the arch of his back, the heavy expanse of his chest as it rose and fell with rhythm of its own.  Soon Shepard could not suppress the groan that erupted from him – tense, but with desire.  Kaidan gripped one of Shepard’s hands, upturning it and interlacing their fingers, pressing it back against the sheet in a steady hold, and brought his torso down to feather a trail of kisses along Shepard’s exposed neck, stopping only at the hinge of his jaw, where his tongue slipped out to run along the sweat-dampened stubble there.

Shepard turned his head toward Kaidan’s, their cheeks grazing one another as quick pants escaped them both, and his free hand brushed along Kaidan’s side, tracing along one pec up to his collarbone and the juncture of his neck, and finally settled at the nape of his neck, fingertips twisting in tiny motions in the damp hair there, loose grip drawing his head to the side for a kiss.  And Kaidan responded wholeheartedly, lips moving in sync with the motion of his hips, warm and wet kisses above, and hot and slick friction below.  He parted from Shepard only when his lover began to match his pace with measured upward thrusts of the hips.

Kaidan’s erection slid between them, sweat-slickened skin at their stomachs creating a friction all its own, and the rhythmic push and pull of warm flesh caught between taut abdominal muscles elicited short moans from him the more his body rocked back and forth.

Shepard’s free hand wrapped around it, but his grip was weak, his fingers dexterous but not quite full strength, and irritation began to taint his expression.  Kaidan turned his head, cheek again brushing against Shepard’s stubble, breathing heavily into his ear, soft, steady huffs that maintained control and reassured him that he appreciated every gesture.  He closed his hand over Shepard’s, sliding their overlapped fingers along the shaft, holding on to the warm smoothness for all that he could.  A long, satisfied sigh in his ear told Shepard everything he needed to know.

Fingers grazed along Shepard’s scar tissue and slid easily over Kaidan’s hardened flesh.  Wrists twisted in sync and thumbs glided over the head of his erection, matching each pulsing thrust into him, and Kaidan dropped his head and began panting, every breath wafting about Shepard’s collarbone, brief but rhythmic like the warm summer breeze outside. 

He kissed Shepard as he rolled his hips with renewed fervency, claiming every thrust into his body and every stroke of his flesh, every push deep inside and every brush of sensitive skin, and moaned into his mouth as he found release, spilling warm cum onto Shepard’s abdomen as he shuddered through his orgasm.  Shepard returned the kiss with a smirk staining his lips, the pulsing tightness of Kaidan’s climax sending his nerves reeling, and Kaidan finally parted from him, rolling his hips awkwardly a few times as he raised himself up and carelessly wiped his hand on the sheet at the edge of the bed.

Shepard gazed up at him, at the satisfaction in his eyes, the damp hair clinging to his forehead, and the slowly steadying rise and fall of his chest, but there was also something resolute, something like determination behind that growing grin that made his body shiver.  And when Kaidan braced himself with two hands splayed out over the sheet on either side of his shoulders and began riding him in earnest, Shepard had to close his eyes, a groan of pleasure erupting straight from the pit of his gut.

“S-Shit, Kai—” 

The attempt quickly surrendered to another moan with one perfect roll of the hips, Kaidan’s body moving like it was weightless, but still hot and tight and perfect in itself.  The friction and heat radiated about him as he plunged into the deepest parts of his lover’s body, and Shepard was panting, hands sprawling at Kaidan’s hips, heart pounding against his chest in time with Kaidan’s fervent motions.  His fingernails dug into Kaidan’s waist, embedding tiny semicircles into the slick skin there, and his head tipped back into the pillow, arching his back as best he could when he finally shuddered and came.

Kaidan slowed, rocking on the final pulses of Shepard’s climax, quick breaths escaping through pursed lips as he shuddered along with him, and he closed his eyes and reveled in the feeling – the heat of the air between them, the satisfaction in Shepard’s voice as he rode the wave of that high, the eagerness of his own body as spurts of thick fluid claimed it.  And for a single intense moment, there was nothing else in the world but him.

He leaned forward to pepper Shepard’s jaw with kisses, giving him the space he needed to calm his erratic breathing, and finally rolled off to one side when Shepard turned his head toward him and returned his affection with a final proper kiss.  He drew Shepard into his arms, each one of them reveling in the feel of the other.

“I think I need a shower,” Kaidan eventually muttered, suddenly a bit discomforted by the mess on his stomach and the stains on the sheet beneath him.

Shepard could not move his legs, and it would likely be awhile before he could do so without the dull soreness threatening to make him collapse under his own weight, but right now, he could not be bothered to care.  He turned his head to the crook of Kaidan’s neck, perfectly content with his sore muscles and protesting joints as long as he could feel the pulse of Kaidan’s heart there.

“In a minute,” Shepard said, the edge of his lip moving against Kaidan’s collarbone.  “Or ten.”

“Yeah,” Kaidan agreed, and he settled further into the sheet.

In the silence that followed, Kaidan could not help but spot the armor across the room, the chestplate that had lain in its clear container in the same place for weeks, untouched but always visible, always in the background of their lives here and now.

“Does it bother you, Kaidan?”

Shepard had noticed.  Kaidan cleared his throat in an attempt to downplay his initial embarrassment.

“No,” he answered.  “Well, not really.”

“Why not just get rid of it?”

“Do you want to?”

“Hell, I don’t know.”  Shepard turned partway onto his back, wincing as he did so.  “I don’t think we need that kind of reminder lying around.”

“Yeah, probably not.”

“Why did you want to keep it in the first place?”

“I don’t know.”

“Really?”

“No, I do know,” Kaidan admitted, sighing afterward.  “I thought it was beautiful.”

“Heh…”  A short chuckle and a grin.  “Well, do you still think so?”

“Not so much.”  Kaidan looked away for a moment, mentally scolding himself for lying through his teeth.  “But now I’m starting to think there’s better reminders that we’re both still alive.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll take it with me tomorrow.”

“Yeah…” 

Shepard turned back toward Kaidan, settling into the warmth that he had always wanted – always needed – and Kaidan adjusted, holding him as close as he could for as long as Shepard would allow.  With the sun slowly rising into position in the sky over the balcony, the morning light had begun to seep further into the room, tracing the grain of the floorboards with new lines and filling the air with new warmth.  Kaidan’s grip grew a little tighter.

There was still a full day ahead of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I like some fluff with my angst. And by “fluff” I mean “sex.” But fluff, too.  
> …Fluffy sex? Sexy fluff. I dunno.


	6. Promise

Kaidan felt like he was dying.

Finally, another day off after a three-week long assignment at the Alliance branch in Chicago, and he woke to a migraine pounding against his temples.  It was like his brain was pulsing out of his eardrums, melting away at room temperature, but he was aware enough to recognize the situation.  Shepard was seated upright against the headboard some feet away, awake but not touching him, knowing full well that his migraines were best left alone and without the heat of another’s body anywhere nearby, and Kaidan muttered under his breath.

The previous night, after he returned home much later than anticipated, he said he would spend time with Shepard on a morning run.  He said he would share the stories of his assignment, of the new people and the new city, all the details and interests and curiosities that he was simply too tired to delve into at those late hours of the night.  So he dressed down to a tank top and boxer-briefs and went to bed, holding Shepard’s hand in his own on top of the sheet as a promise.

And as he lay there that morning, curled up on one side, hands clenching the sheets ever tighter with each throbbing pulse against his skull, he struggled to open his mouth and speak.

“Shepard, I’m—” 

He hesitated on a long sigh that failed to calm his nerves or ease the tension behind his eyes. 

“I’m sorry.”

His words faltered upon the vague sensation of a shift in the mattress beneath him.  A hobbling string of footfalls slowly faded into the distance, but every sound and sight meshed together in a confused muddle, swirling about in his head like a tide, depriving him of his ability to distinguish consciousness from unconsciousness.  He rolled onto his back, eyes twisted shut, hands fisted in the material of his shirt, and tried to simply breathe, but the sweat at his brow never evaporated and the pounding ache against his temples never eased.

And suddenly there was a swath of cool material upon his forehead, damp and soothing.  His eyes opened slowly, only to squint at the bright morning light already streaming into the room, but even through his strained and blurry vision he could see Shepard limping away from him, headed toward the balcony double doors to close them and draw the curtains over all the windows.  When the room was dim, he reached for the damp washcloth and held his hand against the soft material as he watched Shepard struggle to again mount the bed and settle against the headboard a few feet away.

“Sleep, Kaidan,” Shepard said, gazing back at him with that smile – that small, appreciative smile that always spoke volumes through its silence, rendered even warmer by the words that drifted from it.

So he attempted to swallow the dryness in his throat and settled into the sheet, relaxing his sore muscles as best he could, closing his eyes and mind to every distracting flicker of light and outside noise, endeavoring to remain still despite of the swell in his heart.  He fell asleep with Shepard’s hand curled gently around his own.

When he again woke, it took him a few moments to recover from the last dregs of sleep, having no gauge of how much time had passed in silence.  The intensity of the headache had dissipated, leaving only a dull discomfort behind the eyes, and he slowly began to return to reality.  But then he trembled upon the sensations that crept over his body with the returning awareness of his mind: he was wrapped in Shepard’s arms, held loosely against his scarred chest, cheek resting beside his collarbone; the washcloth draped over his forehead was freshly damp and cold, as though it had been changed recently, or perhaps several times; and there was a glass of water resting atop the opposite nightstand, waiting for him.

He must have unconsciously reached for Shepard in his sleep.  He could not recall any actions or dreams that may have led him there, but he turned his head slightly inward, smiling into the warmth of that embrace.  Shepard had always been there, holding him, taking on Kaidan’s pain the same as he had taken the aches in his own muscles, and Kaidan seized the moment to just look at him, feel him, know him, love him.  Kaidan could see him so clearly – the shadows of the dim room that contoured every angle of his face, the determined grit of his jaw as he held that embrace, the scars that littered his body – and yet he could feel so much more.

The man whose body had been unraveling at the seams was holding him as though he were the one who had shouldered the agonizing burden of a burning galaxy.  Twice now, Shepard had been rebuilt, salvaged from a pile of broken parts, and yet somehow the man beneath all those surface scars had persisted intact through it all.  And under the palm of Kaidan’s hand, Shepard’s heart was finally beating in the steady rhythm that it had never achieved under the constant strain of war – and it was beating for him.

So Kaidan made his decision.

He tilted his head back against Shepard’s upper arm, craning his neck up to kiss his lover’s jaw and smiling into the brush of stubble against his lips as Shepard slowly stirred from his own slumber.  With a deep sigh, Shepard met his lips with his own, a leisurely morning kiss that had been regrettably delayed until afternoon.

“Morning,” Kaidan mumbled against his lips. “Or something.”

“Yeah,” Shepard replied, not yet fully aware of himself.

Kaidan turned away and set the washcloth aside, slipping from Shepard’s hold to stand upright and resume the routine.  He made his way to the kitchen to prep coffee and returned with a steaming mug in hand to find Shepard sprawled out over the sheet, sweatpants bunched halfway up each shin, tank top lifted partially on one side.

“Hey,” he said as he approached the bed, bringing one hand to his hip as he stood there, looking down.  “We got a late start today, but I need you to get up.”

Shepard heaved a sigh, the subtle catches in the rise and fall of his chest indicating at least a small amount of pain as he did so, and he rubbed his hands over his eyes.  When he forced himself to sit upright and brace his back against the headboard, he took the mug that was immediately offered to him.

“Sounds like you’ve got something in mind,” he said, staring down at the dark liquid, still steaming and too hot.  “You taking me somewhere?”

“Maybe later, if you want,” Kaidan said, shrugging his shoulders. 

He headed for the balcony and opened the double doors, wincing at the sudden bright afternoon sun that met his eyes, but smiling into it regardless.  He turned partway on his heel, watching from the threshold as Shepard sipped coffee, still groggy and glancing about the room as it began to fill with the light of another day.

When Shepard eventually set the emptied mug onto the nightstand, Kaidan returned to the bedside and offered a hand.  Shepard glared at it for a moment, his eyes flicking up toward Kaidan’s face once or twice, and he finally accepted it and let Kaidan lead him by the hand to the balcony.  There, the sun was bright, the bay was shining, and the sky was incredibly blue.

Kaidan stood with his hands open on the balustrade, gazing out over bay, while Shepard rested against the railing at his side, one forearm flat atop it and a hand drawn up to steady it in place.  Shepard watched the subtle changes on Kaidan’s face, the tiny creases at his brow and the hints of movement at the corner of his lip, and he knew Kaidan was lost in the throes of some troublingly persistent thought.

So Shepard finally broke the silence.  “What’s this about?”

Kaidan shifted unsteadily on his feet, transferring his weight from one foot to the other and back again.  “I just wanted to say something,” he answered, spoken straightforwardly but belied by the anxious undertone of his voice.

“Shoot.”

“Well, more than one thing, but…”  His sentence trailed off and never returned.

Shepard cocked an eyebrow.  “You doing okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” Kaidan replied, attempting to relax his shoulders, only to feel them stiffen instead.  “I just— I wanted to say… shit.”

“You wanted to say ‘shit’?”

“No,” Kaidan mumbled, running a palm across his face in frustration, ignoring the amused smirk that flitted across Shepard’s lips.  “No, I wanted to tell you something.”

“I’m still listening.  For the moment, anyway.”

Kaidan muttered under his breath.  He had no idea where to go from there.

“I… I just think that— I-I don’t know.”

“You still feeling that headache?” Shepard teased.

Kaidan’s brow knitted, if only slightly.  “I’m trying to be serious here.”

“Okay, then,” Shepard said, deadpan.  “I’m all ears.”

Kaidan allowed himself a deep breath, not that it served to calm his nerves in the end, but at least it gave him the moment of pause he needed to frame his next thought – or attempt to.  “You’ve done so much for me— hell, for everyone, you know?  It’s pretty damn amazing any way you look at it: that this war brought us together, that we survived it all, that we’re here now.  I don’t know if it’s luck or fate or… I just, uh— yeah, I don’t know.  All I know for sure is that I’ve always loved you.”

“Always, huh,” Shepard said, a grin catching one corner of his mouth.  “Looks like we both kept our promises there.”

“Yeah.” 

Kaidan turned away and disappeared behind the doorframe, leaving Shepard momentarily alone with only the confused furrow of his brow.  He returned with a small package in hand, an unmarked, brown box that was as wide as his palm and nearly as tall, and resumed his stance against the balustrade.  What he had willfully neglected to tell Shepard the previous night was that his late arrival had been partially due to a detour – he had needed to report for a scheduled pickup.

“I’ve got a few contacts out there,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking into an awkward smirk.  “I had what was left of your armor melted down.”

“I see…”

Kaidan opened the case and fished through the scraps of cushioning that had been placed inside as an afterthought.  Presentation had not been the main focus of the work he commissioned.

“And I had these cast from your armor,” Kaidan said, his voice soft and humble and embarrassed, but his face lit up when he caught the two rings in hand.

An amalgam of their dog tags and Shepard’s armor.  A simple gesture with entirely too much weight.  A mark of their lives, forever bound together in a modest metal alloy band.

Kaidan lowered his head a bit, the nervous curl of his lips becoming an awkward smile.  “And I would be honored if you accepted one of them.”

The expression upon Shepard’s face was entirely foreign to his features.

“Are you proposing to me, Kaidan?”

“Uh, well… I’m trying to, yeah.”

And then Shepard’s expression became unreadable in a completely new way as Kaidan placed one ring into the palm of his hand.

Shepard held it between his index finger and thumb, studying the polish and the even, dark color of the metal, admiring the handiwork of it, perhaps somewhat gawkily at that, but it was just another idiosyncrasy of life for Kaidan to appreciate.  Kaidan thought he caught a glimpse of Shepard looking back at him through the band like an eyepiece, and he smiled.  When Shepard returned it with a smile of his own, he knew for certain.

But it faded slowly as a tiny, obscure reflection captured Shepard’s attention.  He lowered the ring, twisting it horizontally between his fingers to examine the letters etched into the inside of the band.  Engraved into the metal alloy was a single word: _Always_.

Always.  Limitless.  Eternal.  Everything they were and ever would be.

Permanent.  Rather than a dull reminder of unflinching duty and endless war and painful separation, words engraved into cold metal were a promise fulfilled: a galaxy saved, a home made, and a life together – always.

Shepard clenched the ring in the palm of his hand, ignoring the trembling soreness of the action as he placed his fist on top of the balustrade, stifling the words lodged in his throat and suppressing the tightening coil in his gut.  He simply stood there, gaze fixed forward on the bay, holding on to the ring and their lives and everything else as tightly as he could bear.

Kaidan turned to stand at his side, watching the waver of the water under the afternoon sun, the clouds streaking the sky, the boats that appeared so small from that distance, the tall buildings lining the green shore on the other side, the boundless life before them.

“So, uh… your answer?”

Shepard gave him a sideways glance.  “I think you know.”

“Yeah,” Kaidan said, placing his hand over Shepard’s, “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, what a smorgasbord of cheese. Sometimes cheesy is nice, though. :)  
> Thank you for reading! <3


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